Daughter of Bhaal
by SRRH
Summary: This story is about the life and times of Malori, child of Bhaal. It covers a span of time 1344-c.1400 including her childhood at Candlekeep as well as her life after her Baldur's Gate adventures.
1. Chapter 1

___Disclaimer: I don't own Baldur's Gate _

___A/N: This story is __based ____upon the Baldur's Gate game trilogy. However, there are many instances that I stray from canon, which is entirely intentional. So if you don't want to read something that isn't purely canon, then please don't read._

_**He who fights monsters should see to it that he himself does not become a monster. When you gaze long into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.**_

Chapter 1 30 Uktar 1344 The Feast of the Moon 40th year of the reign of King Bartimaeus IV of Amn.

"_At the innermost core of all loneliness is a deep and powerful yearning for union with one's lost self."_

_ ~ Brendan Francis_

"_Pray that your loneliness may spur you into finding something to live for, great enough to die for._

_ ~ Dag Hammarskjold_

Outside the window, the people of Impernium were reveling in the glow of bonfires, erected earlier that evening as part of the celebration of the Feast of the Moon in honor of Selune, goddess of the moon and stars. Also, people were spending some coin to have their fortunes told as Selune is the goddess of prophecy as well. The whole city was in a festive mood. To the young queen Morwen, the view outside the window of her private chapel seemed a world away.

She had come here to kneel before her private alter, dedicated to her patron god, Helm. Helm the god of protectors, Helm the Vigilant one. As she was kneeling, she looked out the window and searched the night sky. Almost immediately she found it, the constellation shaped like an eye, ever watchful, the constellation belonging to Helm. Upon seeing it, she felt comforted a bit. Back before she was queen, she would see that same sign shining through her bedroom window, easily visible to her while she was lying in bed. It would bathe her with a serene light and she would slip into a peaceful night's sleep, soothed by the assurance that Helm was watching over her…

How long ago that seemed now, it seemed as though a lifetime had passed since her marriage to the elderly king Bartimaeus, rather than mere months. Again her mind wandered to the people just outside and their excitement. Truth be told, as a child, this day, The Feast of the Moon, was her favorite of all holidays. She would listen in awe for hours as the elders told stories of great heroes of the past, their hands expertly using the flames of the bonfires to create fantastic images made of shadow. As a young child she had thought that the story tellers could, in truth, control the shadows, make them bend to their will. Then, she had discovered that it was a partnership of sorts, a three way partnership with the storyteller, the fire, and the dark all doing their part with no one being stronger than the others. She had been quick to learn the skill and had dreamed of teaching her children someday. She also loved to take part in the ritualistic dancing and howling around the great bonfires, calling upon Selune in the voice of the animal most dearest to her, the wolf. Also, this was the night when the remaining meat from the seemingly endless banquets were divided into two piles, one to be burned in the great fire so the rich aromas would reach Selune's moon dog, Cerebus, and the other half to be placed outside for the wild wolves that roamed. This was never any trouble because in order to assure that there would be more than enough meat left over for the great dogs, twice as much meat was prepared as even the most gluttonous crowd could not finish it. This was done, Morwen was told, because one Feast of the Moon, long ago, there was no meat left over from the banquet which angered the goddess who forsook the people of Faerun and for that whole year, the moon and stars refused to shine and a countless number of sailors were lost at sea, as they had no stars to navigate by. That story had always made her sad as a child, yet she would always be quickly and pleasantly distracted by some of the guests at the feast, the lycanthropes. Werewolves. Some of her friends had been frightened of them, not her though, she thought them fascinating, these seemingly normal people most of the time became wolf-men, usually this was frowned upon, but upon this, the feast of Selune, they were welcome to revel in their beastly form and from time to time it happened when Morwen would discover, to her great surprise, that a teacher, or a friend, or a long time acquaintance was in fact a lycan.

However, one of her _all-time _FAVORITE things to do on this, her favorite of all days was to have her fortune told, for Selune was also the goddess of prophesy and at the feast, there would always be tons of fortune-tellers. As a young child, she would take the words of the oracles as law, yet as she got older, she became more and more skeptical of their prophesies, but it was still fun and she never missed a chance to see at least one of the oracles. In her mind the craziest fortune that was ever told to her was one from, what, only last year, when an old woman had told her two things. One, that she would marry her true love and that her son would be a king. At that last part she had remembered exploding into laughter while the old woman looked at her kindly, with a bit of pity in her eyes. Morwen remembered saying, still laughing

"You must be mistaken. I hear you well and good that I shall marry my true love, and glad am I to hear it. But my son to be a king, how is that to be, might I ask? I am but simple Morwen, a farm girl, and Cole, my love, is but a poor knight. How can any son of ours ever hope to become a king?"

"My dear," the old woman said gently, "I never said that the boy would be Cole's."

"But," Morwen had interjected shocked, "Cole is my true love, I know it." She found herself to be close to yelling at the poor old woman.

"I doubt it not, however, nor did I even say that your son would be fathered by your true love."

Morwen tried to calm down, it was just a fortune-teller after all, it wasn't canon law, so she shook her head and said, while getting up to leave,

"Well madam, I thank you for the fortune-telling, we shall just have to see what happens, shan't we?"

This year she was not in a festive mood, had begged pardon from her husband the king if she could be excused from the festivities on account that she was feeling unwell. He graciously acquiesced, with a touch of excitement in his voice, hinting that he thought perhaps her illness was an early sign of pregnancy. He, as well as the crown-prince, gallantly offered to escort her back to her suite, however, she soon heard a soft voice say,

"Your Majesty, your highness, if you would allow it, _I_ would like to escort her to her rooms, that is, if the queen doesn't mind?"

Her heart skipped a beat; she would have known that voice anywhere, she spun around…

"Cole!" her mind and heart screamed, for a brief moment she was fearful that she might have yelled his name aloud, but since no one was looking at her peculiarly, she figured that the exclamation had remained non-verbal.

He inclined his head to her, she could feel color rushing to her face and she willed herself not to shame herself in front of her husband and step-son.

"How have you come to be here, might I ask?" She questioned with no small amount of wonder. How she wanted to rush to him, to have him hold her in his arms, yet she couldn't.

"My dear, Sir Cole is here, as I have given him a position at court. Who better, I thought, to protect our beloved queen than someone who is as undeniably loyal to her as someone who has been a boon companion for so long. He is to be your body guard, that is, if you wish it. I thought it would please you to have a familiar face such as Sir Cole's around."

Morwen hadn't known what to think, she was just in shock, she needed time to relax and to sort out her emotions that had been building up over these past few months and were in danger of being let loose here, for all to see. So, she said,

"Thank you kindly, your majesty." She curtseyed, yet the king quickly had her rise.

"The pleasure is all mine my dear, and please, no need for your majesty here, as I have said before, Bart is a good and proper way for you to address me, and by the gods, "he exclaimed laughing, "No curtseying, first of all you are not feeling well, secondly, I have grown weary of such things over these past 40 years. I am proud enough without people constantly bowing and scraping before me!" He said, a playful glimmer in his eyes.

"Now, then, I suppose I shall allow Cole to see you to your suite, my dear." He said as he lifted his wife's jeweled hand to his lips. "Sleep well, my dear."

"A pleasant evening to you to dear heart," she said "and to you Kidrial." She said to the prince, who nodded politely to her in return.

She then lightly placed her hand upon Cole's proffered arm and allowed him to lead her back to the castle and to her rooms. They were both silent, unsure of what to do or say in such a situation, so they merely continued silently on their way, their eyes locked dead-ahead. When they finally reached her rooms, they turned to face each other. Cole gave her a small smile, though his eyes looked sad. He took her hand gently in his, brought it to his lips and softly kissed it.

"Good night, your Highness." He said softly and bowed elegantly before her. Morwen wanted to cry. He was there mere inches away and yet he could have been half way across Faerun for all the good it did her.

"Good night." Was all that she was able to say before she hastily turned from him and entered her suite closing the door tightly behind her. All at once, the emotions that she had been holding back overcame her and she fell upon her bed, her body racked with sobs, muffling her cries with a pillow, for fear that Cole, who was still just outside her door, would hear her.

Then, after crying for a few minutes, she abruptly sat up, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand and gave a soft sniffle.

"Damn it Morwen," she thought to herself, "You are a queen; you had better start acting like one!" At that she tried to organize her emotions, now that she had gained the upper hand over them. The past months had gone by in a whirlwind, she had been kept too busy to dwell upon what had happened to her, how her life had been unalterably changed.

She was still in awe, really, at what had happened. She was queen! From going to a lowly peasant to queen, well, it would have to take some getting used to. King Bartimaeus had been getting lonely since the death of his first queen and the mother of his only child, the crown prince Kidrial, fifteen years before. A king choosing a peasant bride as a second queen was not unheard of. Indeed, King Bartimaeus himself was the product of just such a union. She supposed that she was chosen as a way to gain more support from the people, it had begun to ebb as of late with all of the call to arms that had been given in recent years. Also, Morwen was well respected as a very dedicated priestess of Helm in her small community, and Bartimaeus dearly wanted to be seen as worthy before the eyes of the gods, especially one as powerful as Helm and how better than to wed a priestess who seemed to have his favor? Regardless, things were quite good between them, her and Bartimaeus. He was a good man who truly seemed to care for her and they had developed a nice friendship, even though she was still a bit in awe of her royal husband.

And yet, despite all of his kindness and her best efforts, she could not bring herself to love him, not as a wife should love her husband. Such love she felt only towards Cole. Cole. She didn't know what to think of him right now. She had come to him when she had first been courted by the king. She had come to him in tears telling him of what had transpired. To her shock, he had told her to go ahead and marry the king. Her heart had sunk. But, she loved _him, Cole_! And she believed he loved her! How could he let some other man, even though it be the king, lay claim to her? Why not announce an engagement between them and tell the king that she was not available, that he would have to take another to be his queen. He would understand, she had been sure of it! But Cole had just shook his head and said with a small, sad smile on his lips that he wouldn't do that. And why ever not? She had protested. Because, he claimed, he was a poor country knight with hardly a penny to his name, despite the small business he had as a textiles merchant on the side. How could he ever hope to support her and a family when he was in such financial straits? Yet to marry a king, to want for nothing, to become royalty, he couldn't have her give that all up just to be poor and married to him. At this she had pushed him away in anger and sadness, tears filling her dark brown eyes, blinding her.

"Damn it Cole" She had yelled, choking back a sob, "Don't you see! I would be miserable as queen, married to a man who wasn't you!"

Cole had begun to say how when you love something you let it go and if it returns to you… but Morwen hadn't been listening

"Come on, Morwen! He is an old man anyway, he won't live much longer-"

"Cole! That's treason to even mention the death of the king! Besides, he is forty-seven, hardly an old man and he could have twenty or thirty years in him still. You…you coward, just stay away from me! To think I loved a man who didn't have the nerve to proclaim his love for me and would let another man have me! Just stay far, far away from me Cole." She said and then she ran away sobbing, her face in her hands.

With her heart hardened to Cole, she had no reason not to marry the king, and so, she had. The appearance of Cole this evening, she didn't know what to think. Was he here to use her elevated rank for his own advancement? She had thought so at first. Bartimaeus wouldn't have brought Cole to court had he known that he had been her paramour even though she _had _come to the king's bed as a maid. From how the king had introduced Cole, he seemed to know nothing of their relationship except that they were boon companions, best friends. And yet, looking in Cole's soft, sad, gray eyes, she could see no calculating coldness in them, merely love and sadness. He wanted to be near to her, in any capacity. If that was the case, why hadn't he had the courage to tell the king before the marriage of his feelings towards her? For that matter, why hadn't she? It was not something she wanted to dwell upon, and yet, why hadn't she? No, it was too painful to dwell upon.

At least she _would _now have a friend at court. Her husband the king was a very kind man and they had developed a friendship, but Cole was a living lifeline, a connection to her old life, her old self. She had few friends at court. Sure, she had overwhelming support from the people, but the nobles of Amn looked upon her with disdain, she knew it, even though they had never been openly rude to her, she could still feel the contempt they held for her. What made matters worse was that she knew that the one person who was most angered by the recent marriage was her stepson, the crown prince Kidrial. So far he had proven to be something of an enigma. Prince Kidrial, she almost laughed when she thought about it. He was a few years older than she was, born in the king's twentieth summer. He was never rude to her, no, he treated her with great respect, yet she was fearful that she was creating a wedge between father and son. He was disgusted with his father for remarrying after the death of his mother, the beloved late queen Yamilet, who had died giving birth to a stillborn daughter fifteen years ago. The king had married her for love as a very young man and he swore at the time that he would never remarry, and now…well, it was just too much for Kidrial to swallow.

What was she to do? She did not ask for this. She decided at this point to pray to Helm, at the small alter she had dedicated to him in her private chapel, and that was where she was now. The stone floor cold against her knees, she bent her head in prayer, tears trickling down her beautiful face.

"Great Helm, you who are the Great Guard, the Great Watcher, the Vigilant One, you have always looked after me, always aided me in my moment of need. Please my dear lord, I beseech thee, turn not thine ear from me in my hour of great need, but rather in thy great kindness hear me. I now stand upon a precipice and am in great need of your guidance, lest I make a wrong step and lose forever all that is dear to me. I have been chosen to be queen, a great honor that I neither asked for nor wanted. As a result, I am now married to a man, a good man, but one whom I do not love. What's more, I have been thus forced by circumstance to deny the love that I bear for my most beloved Cole. What should I do? Please, give me the wisdom to follow the right path and the strength to follow my convictions; I know that by you I shall not be forsaken…

A man approaching his middle years sat at a table, his back hunched, his elbows resting on the table, his fingers rubbing his temples. He gave a heavy sigh, his brow furrowed with care. He had been a fool as of late.

"I'm getting too old for this. I can't even hold onto my own." He thought miserably. He seemed to have aged greatly in the recent times, signs of his weakening influence and all the stress he had put himself through this past while. His once rich brown hair and beard were becoming liberally streaked with grey, his eyes etched with lines. "Why do those mortal call them 'laugh lines'? I hardly got them through an excess of mirth." He thought bitterly. He tried to focus on his duties, on those that needed him. "Little good I'm doing them in this state." He said bitterly. "They look to me for guidance and strength, when I myself am just a lost and troubled soul myself." He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he did not notice another's presence in the room until he felt a light touch upon his shoulder. At that he jumped and hastily turned around. Upon seeing a wizened old man before him, he quickly rose from his seat and said, "My lord! I was not expecting you! Please, how may I serve?"

The old man put a hand up for silence and smirked.

"Calm yourself, Helm. You could not have known that I was coming as I had just decided to act upon a whim and pay you a visit." He looked around the room with disdain. "Quite sparse furnishings you have here."

"It fits my needs just fine my lord Ao, it offers few distractions, which makes it an ideal place to just be alone and think."

"Or brood." The old man said. "This isn't good for you my boy, not good at all. And would it kill you to shave every once in a while?" He sternly looked at his grown son whose face was nearly completely covered with a thick beard, his eyes, a beautiful rare blue, the exact hue as the Faerunian sky, just visible above it.

"I hardly need any grooming advice father." He grumbled.

"Oh, no, indeed not." He responded sarcastically, rolling his eyes. "What has been ailing you as of late? You have been quite gloomy recently." He immediately realized that it was perhaps not the best way he could have broached the subject to his brash son.

Helm's earlier obedient, deferential attitude was quickly leaving him as he became increasingly annoyed. "Well, I apologize for my recent *brooding* and *gloominess* my lord," with mock deference. "I have merely been reflecting upon the fates of *your* children and *my* siblings as of late. Banishing them as you did. What were you *thinking*?"

Ah, so that was it. He had expected Helm of all of the denizens that habituated the Faerunian pantheon to understand. Ao, as the over-father of said pantheon usually brooked no argument or questioning of his decisions from those who served him. But Helm, a steadfast man, one who had stood staunchly by his side through many upheavals of power attempted by the more power-hungry of the gods, he decided to tolerate it.

"Do you truly think I would have done so had I any other choice?' he asked, his eyes and voice hard and yet Helm was taken aback by a flicker of sadness behind the old man's eyes, a hint of weariness in his voice. What had happened was that two of the gods, Bane, god of hatred, fear, and tyranny, and Myrkul, god of death, known by mortals as The Black Hand and The Lord of the Dead respectively, had attempted to steal the Tablets of Fate from the overgod Ao, tablets that he had created to sustain the balance of good and evil, order and chaos, and contain the areas in Faerun where each of the gods ruled over. It had been the last straw for Ao. Sick of the gods' habitual pursuit of power and negligence towards their mortal faithful, Ao had cast them out forced them to dwell among the mortals of Faerun as mortals, albeit incredibly strong ones. It had, as Helm remembered bitterly, led to chaos throughout the realms. Helm had been the only god allowed to stay in the heavens having been entrusted by Ao with the duty of guarding the gates of heaven. It had been three years and already a number of the gods had already been slain, a fact that did not sit well with Helm.

Helm's eyes became dark. Thinking about the slain gods, one in particular weighed heavily upon his conscience, the death of Mystra, the Mistress of Magic, the Mother of Mysteries, and the one who had guided the weave of magic that envelops the world. She had been slain the year past, by his hands as she tried to bypass him without the tablets of fate and it still haunted him. Regardless of whether or not it was his duty, many gods as well as mortals held him in contempt. He didn't know why it bothered him so, but it did.

Lost in his own thoughts, Helm hadn't noticed the hint of sadness hidden behind Ao's stern, hard eyes.

"It may not affect you any, however, I can't endure this! The blood of Mystra stains my hands! What would become of me if anyone else tries to do the same? I try to tell myself that I was just doing my duty, but it is not enough. Not for me, not for the others, not for the mortals. They are falling away from me…" his distraught blue eyes searched his father's hard gray ones imploringly.

"This too, shall pass, my boy. You mustn't let things eat at you like this. For the mortals, it shall be a test of their faith, that is all, they will come around, they always have. And the others? They have far greater problems to worry about, so don't flatter yourself so."

Ao tried to give Helm a small, reassuring smile. He sighed as Helm continued to look dejected. His sensitivity was admirable, but not when it hurt him so much as all this. He of all the gods seemed the most blessed (or cursed) with a strong conscience, not always favorable in a being of duty, whose decisions were not his own to make. He really had not meant to put him in such a state as all this. However, he had a final card to play, his ace in the hole, so to speak.

"So, "he said after a short while "How is your son?"

Ha! Success! At the mention of the boy, Helm's face immediately lit up, as he knew it would.

"Fantastic! He's tough and strong, just like his old man!" he boasted, puffing out his chest with pride. "Just nine years old and he is being trained by one of the greatest paladins in Faerun!"

"Yes, he his quite an impressive lad, I will grant him that, but Helm, he looks nothing like you, golden and lean as he is. I dare swear, he reminds me of a young Amaunator."

Helm couldn't help but to laugh at that. Amaunator, the old, decrepit sun god, he who was old before Helm was brought into being, and Helm was far from being a young deity. He couldn't imagine Amaunator ever looking like his boy, all golden and youthful, full of vivacity and life.

"I'll have to take your word for that, but he has my eyes, you must have noticed that at least, those eyes, have you ever seen the like? "

"No, I suppose you are right. Regardless," he said, taking serious tone. "I would strongly advise you against such 'fraternization' again."

Helm gave him a blank expression.

"Your boy, his mother, she is a mortal of course, I can't really say that I condone such behavior"

"Mortal?" Helm asked, caught off guard by the comment.

"Your son Helm, your only child, was born of a mortal woman, correct?" he asked raising an eyebrow.

Helm quickly answered, trying to save himself.

"Oh, yeah, a mortal, of course." His mind wandered to the mother of his only child._ And what a woman she is, _thought Helm, blissfully thinking back to that time nearly ten years ago when they had convinced themselves to live for the moment, she in self-enforced banishment, he constantly trying to keep order. She had been the one to come on to _him_! He had never dreamed that she would have any such feelings towards him, the most beautiful of them all. Never did he think that she would quicken with child, but she had. Due to the circumstances, he had been terrified for the safety of his son, beautiful and golden like his mother. He had convinced her to give the child up, for to keep him with her would be to put his life in danger, he knew it, just by his parentage alone, now, in the thick of the chaos, he was glad that he had done so, despite the pain that it had caused both of them. The boy was growing up, strong, safe, and, most importantly, loved. He need never know of his parentage, and he would be better off for his ignorance.

"Are you sure about this, I don't remember having the honor of meeting this woman. Is there something you aren't telling me my boy?" asked Ao, who was getting increasingly suspicious.

"Oh no my lord, you are absolutely right, the woman is mortal." Said Helm, inwardly praying that Ao wouldn't delve deeper.

Ao let the matter drop.

"Now, I pray that you excuse me, I have matters that I must be attending to." said the younger man as he turned to leave.

"And just what are you going to do?" Ao asked, already knowing full well that he was not going to approve of the answer.

"Oh, I'm just going to 'fraternize' with another mortal woman." He said with a smirk on his face. "Don't worry my lord," he said more seriously, "I am not doing this just to satisfy my own lust, if you thought otherwise, then you hardly know me, even after all this time." Then he turned around and left.

Ao let out a heavy sigh. _Do I even know you Helm? _Ao asked to himself. The boy was keeping a secret from him, yet so was he. It had been a lie that he had merely decided to visit him on a whim, no, recently he had been filled with a sense of foreboding for his favorite son, yet it was nothing he could put into words. Even if he could have, Helm would have only seen his concerns as the senseless worries of an old man. His nerves, as Ao had seen were already fraying, and Ao really didn't want to upset him further, especially when all he had at the moment were vague feelings of worry for his safety. All he did know though is that with new gods joining the pantheon, and Ao knew their characters well, Helm was bound to gain a few enemies, and the fact that he had mortal progeny, if they were to find that out, they could play upon that weakness, the blind love of a parent for his child, it was made worse when the parent was divine and the child mortal. He knew it was a weakness that Helm could ill-afford.

The young queen was still on her knees before her alter, her head bent in silent prayer.

"Your majesty, may I have a moment of your time?" asked a soft and gentle voice from behind her.

She almost gasped, was tempted to whirl around to see who this intruder was, yet she wouldn't show that she was startled, would carry herself as a queen ought, gracefully, regally. Who would dare to enter her chambers unannounced and during her prayers at that? She was sure that Cole would have stopped anyone from entering, or would, at the very least announce a visitor's arrival. Slowly she rose to her feet and turned around.

Before her, several paces away, was a man bowing low before her.

"Please rise, sir" she said "I would ask what your purpose for being here at such an…hour-" the admonishment died upon her lips as she saw the man who was now standing before her. There stood a man, neither old nor young, of medium height, stocky build, brown hair and a neatly trimmed beard, yet what had caught her attention the most were those eyes, that rare blue hue…blue as the Faerunian sky, she had seen them every day of her life but never like this, no one had, as far as she knew. He also emitted an aura about him. And when he had spoken, it sounded exactly like the voice that would resonate in her heart and soul when she would pray. It slowly dawned on her who this must be.

He gave a small smile, yet his eyes looked sad, lined with care. "I do apologize for the late hour, your highness; however, I did hear that you did desire my help and I- my lady!"

He stopped abruptly as she saw her fall to her knees before him, nearly overcome by the revelation of who he was. He walked over, knelt beside her, and gently cupped her chin with his hand and tilted her head up to look at him.

"Morwen." He said gently, "It's all right. Come now, we can't have you crying just because of little old me." He gently brushed a tear off her cheek with his thumb. Her eyes were gazing into his with a look of overwhelming awe, reverence, and…fear? No, heavens no, there was no need for that.

"Come now, arise. Such action hardly befits the queen of Amn, now does it?" He asked playfully, cocking an eyebrow. He knew that would work, she was very concerned with presenting herself as a queen.

Indeed, it had worked. After he had removed his hand from her chin, she continued to hold it high and he could see her regaining the regal bearing she had before. Slowly, elegantly, she rose to her feet and was able to find her voice, the proud voice of a queen, yet still laced with a bit of awe, understandable, really.

"My lord, how is it that that you have decided to grace me with your presence? I cannot recount a time when you have decided to honor mortals with your divine presence. It is quite humbling. "

He couldn't help but laugh a loud, deep laugh.

"Do you blame me, my dear queen? For if my appearance to one as devoted to my person as your august highness, then imagine how lesser mortals would react, all of this groveling and crying and carrying on and 'I'm sorry this' or 'I'm not worthy that' Truly, 'tis passing strange."

She was relaxing a bit, and gave her own light, musical laugh.

"Most august highness? Please, I would hardly call myself that my lord, and there is definitely no need for YOU to address me as such."

"And," Helm continued, "My 'divine presence' as you so kindly phrased it, this old bag of bones?" he said, gesturing to himself, "Merely a form taken to be more approachable, though I see that has failed somewhat. And, it confuses me somewhat how you mortals always say that a visit from divinity is humbling, really, I would say that you should be rather proud of yourself, we hardly ever visit those who have not found themselves worthy in some form or other."

"I suppose you are right my lord."

"Of course I am."

"Of course you are, just listen to yourself!" she said amused. "But, my most gracious lord, what is your purpose here, if I may inquire?"

"Indeed you may, it is a fair enough question, especially at this late hour with nary a warning." He mused, gently stroking his beard. How to explain, and delicately?

"You see…as you are quite aware…"

'Damn it Helm." He thought to himself, 'Just spit it out already, old man.' And yet he was surprised to discover that he was becoming quite taken by this attractive young mortal. He was drawn to her, not just by her beauty, but by her bright soul and candid nature.

"As you are quite aware, my lady, these are dark times, at least amongst the gods, heavens know how much it will come to affect you mortals. The gods, all except for Ao and myself, are roaming Faerun as mortals, many have already been slain…" his eyes shone with pain that hadn't escaped Morwen before he quickly turned away.

"My lord," Morwen said softly, "You were following the orders of Ao, you did as you must. You mustn't let what happened to Mystra haunt you like this." Her eyes filled with sympathy for him and she gently took his hand in hers and squeezed it reassuringly. At this, Helm turned around, a sad smile on his face and squeezed her hand in response. After a moment he found his voice.

"You are also aware of what one god, Bhaal, has been doing. Having foreseen his own death in this time of troubles, he has gone about fathering mortal children, imbued with his divine essence."

Morwen nodded, wondering where this was leading to.

"I suppose…I suppose that my point is, is that after all that I have done and after all that Bhaal is doing, I…I wish to do something for Faerun, to have my own presence felt, even when I cannot be here. And I…I believe that Bhaal was correct in his own twisted way. A…mortal child of my own essence… I think could help turn the tide of all the coming chaos and darkness into a future of light…that is…if…if you are willing…of course."

"Are you meaning to say that you wish for _me_ to be the vessel for your mortal child my lord?"

"Not vessel , no, a _mother_ to my child." He could feel color coming to his face, well, at least, he thought, he had enough of a beard left to hide that, 'Damn, get a hold of yourself, old man.'

Her head was swimming. _Her_ to bethe mother of Helm's child, she could scarce believe it!

"Why me, you could have anyone you want!"

"Because, dear Morwen, you have always been very devoted to me as well as an exemplary priestess. Furthermore, you are now queen of one of the most powerful kingdoms upon the face of Faerun, one that has long been deeply devoted to me, so what better way to both bless not only you but also this country, as well as to ensure that my son would be in a position of power enough to have a far reaching affect across the Faerun. And lastly, and I apologize if my attentions are unwelcome, but you hold quite an attraction for me, young Morwen, you are a beautiful woman with a bright soul."

He breathed in deeply and let it out in one great big exhalation. His blue eyes searched her green ones, his heart pounding in his chest.

"How could you ever think that I would find your attentions unwelcome, sir? No, indeed, I feel quite, no, very honored at what you propose, and I will do so willingly, how can this be done?"

Helm had a momentary startled appearance. "You…you consent, my lady? Thank you! You please me more than you can know. What I propose to do can be accomplished in one of two ways, the path we choose is completely yours to make. Unlike with Bhaal, I can directly imbue you with my divine essence in a moment's time, an immaculate conception, in other words." He paused, letting it register with her. "The other option would be…well… to copulate in the fashion that mortals do…"

Again Morwen was close to being overcome by what she was hearing; he was giving her a choice, where, as a god, it was more than fitting at it would be his choice alone. She looked at him. He was not an unattractive man, indeed, he was quite handsome. She knew which choice she wanted.

"You give me the choice? Truly?"

"Truly, my lady, whatever you wish."

She gently placed her hand upon his cheek and gazed into his beautiful blue eyes and said softly, "I would appreciate it if you stayed a bit longer than a moment, my lord." She said softly.

His heart leapt into his throat, "Dearest Morwen, do you mean…"

"I'll take option two my lord. You didn't expect me to say that, did you?" she asked.

His surprised, gladdened expression was more than enough of an answer for her. He then gently lifted her chin and kissed her, his beard lightly tickling her face, surprisingly soft to the touch. She gently slid her fingers through his hair, which was just wavy enough to curl pleasantly around them, and was thick without being coarse. All such thoughts, though, vanished from her mind as she noticed his hesitancy to show his passion, and so she took the lead and gently her tongue into his mouth to which he eagerly responded. After a few moments, he broke away, gasping for air, his eyes alight with passion. He then gently, effortlessly, lifted her into his arms, she wrapping her arms around his neck, as he carried her to the waiting bed.

A while later, Helm rose from the bed, got dressed and leaned over to give the sleeping Morwen one last kiss on her forehead and whispered to her

"I hope that you will now have something to live for, something to be strong for, and something you'd be willing to die for. Fare you well, perhaps we shall meet again."

And then he quietly left the room. Cole was no longer standing sentry at the door but had gone to his own room for the night. Slowly, Helm traversed the hallways of the castle, could still see the bonfires burning bright and strong outside, could still hear the people making merry even at the late hour. The interior of the castle was delightfully abandoned, though he was dreading to go outside, to be seen by the crowd, so was pleased when, of a sudden, he saw a regal shadow upon the wall and a moment later, he came face to face with the king.

"Your majesty," he said bowing, "You are just the person I wished to see. I would have a word with you." He frowned when recognition crossed the king's face and he fell to his knees.

"My most esteemed lord! What has transpired that has allowed us to be visited by your most august presence?"

"Come, come, rise, rise." Helm said, pulling the king to his feet. "I have decided to bless your kingdom-"

"Oh great Helm, I thank thee!"

"Please, let me finish, Bartimaeus. Your wife, Morwen, she is, how shall I put this, is going to bear my child."

"My lord! To think of it, a prince of the realm, to be your son!"

"Indeed, though before you misconstrue the situation, I must explain that my arrival was not the reason for her early departure from tonight's festivities. The poor girl is deeply conflicted and troubled within her soul."

"Dear Morwen? Troubled? How? How did I not know of this?" the king asked, his face a picture of concern.

"The whole matter of becoming your queen has been a very overwhelming ordeal for her, one that has just now begun to sink in, in all its entirety. And to top it all off, there is the matter of the guest you have so recently brought to court."

"What? I have personally done something to upset her further? I had no idea? What have I done?"

"It is the matter regarding Sir Cole."

"Sir Cole? But I have been informed that he and the queen were the best of friends! I thought that his presence here would comfort her."

"Very noble intentions indeed, my lord, however, it appears to me that you have not been given all of the facts regarding their relationship. They were more than just friends, they were in love and even though they never consummated their feelings for each other, his presence here, well, let me just say that it is, in some ways…unwelcome…to her. She is faced with a dilemma; she loves you dearly and yet loves him as she wishes she could love you, as a lover, as a husband. It is tearing her up inside."

"I see, I am sorry that I have caused her grief, had I only known. However, I do not wish to release Sir Cole from my service, he is a good and loyal man, yet I do not wish to harm her farther. I shall give him such duties to do around the castle that they shall hardly ever have reason to see each other. And also, though I know this seems a bit unorthodox, but I am of a mind…of a mind to let them see each other, in any capacity they wish, discreetly, so as not to bring shame to my court here."

"My lord Bartimaeus, you are a good man."

"You and Morwen have blessed my kingdom, I could do no other."

"It is such magnanimity that I greatly admire in you Bartimaeus, and a reason why I did decide to bestow this blessing upon you. Now, I must be going, you understand."

"Of course, my lord, thank you my lord. You shall always be honored here within these walls and throughout this kingdom."

"Yes, my lord, I know." Helm said with a smile. "Now, fare thee well, take good care of my son and perhaps we shall meet again, aye?"

"Aye, my lord."

"Oh, and one last thing."

"Yes my lord?"

"I have already spoken of this to Morwen, I would appreciate it if we kept the boy's true parentage just between us three. Proclaim yourself as the father, it shall just be…easier…that way."

"Of course, my lord, of course."

A/N: Thank you for reading please review but NO FLAMES.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own Baldur's Gate…unfortunately…

Chapter 2: 30 Eleint 1345 The Feast of Highharvestide 41st year of the reign of King Bartimaeus IV of Amn

The whole of Impernium, indeed the whole of Amn, was abuzz in preparation for the dedication of the infant prince Alexander to the Over-Father Ao, just as every royal child was. He was also to be dedicated to Helm, the royal family's patron god, whom the little child was named in honor of.

As the feast of Highharvestide, it was a day of celebration in its own right, the day when the people throughout Faerun would revel in the fruits of their labors over the past year. However, today also being the day of the young prince's dedication, there were no holds barred. With the fountains were flowing with the best of wines, colorful streamers were hanging from the buildings, the taverns were offering the best from their taps free of charge, while countless masques and balls were set to begin come sundown and minstrels could be heard on every street corner singing ballads in honor of the most virtuous royal couple and, of course, their beloved new prince Alexander. Everyone was in a celebratory mood, greeting both friends and strangers alike in the streets. None could wait for when the procession would begin in which the royal couple would travel to the far reaches of their kingdom to show the new prince to the eager citizenry of Amn. To top it all off, it was a beautiful fall day, the trees brilliant with colors and the sun shone warm in the sky, as if the gods themselves smiled down upon them.

None of this escaped a little boy who stood outside the castle at Impernium. The court was abuzz with preparation for the ceremony and he had come outside to be out of the way. He merely stood in a warm patch of sunlight and looked around him, taking everything in with his sky blue eyes. All the excitement, the energy, the people, he couldn't wait until he could be free to experience all of it for himself. Already, he had been told that there was to be a masque at court this evening to be performed for the new prince and they had wanted _him _to be in it! His face was flushed with excitement at the thought, and also…well also perhaps a _little_ bit due to the fact that he had partaken in some of the endless rivers of wine that had been flowing freely for all to partake in. His overlord had grudgingly allowed for him to have some.

"Ah, here you are Cary. Quite exciting isn't." came a voice.

The boy looked up and saw a young man standing beside him gazing toward the city beyond the courtyard as well.

"Indeed Prince Caldaron." He said, not without a touch of awe in his voice. "I've never seen anything back home to equal this!"

"Hrmph." The prince said, "We have had equally glorious celebrations in the past, it isn't every day that a prince is born, you know. You came to court shortly after the celebrations that we held after my brother was born."

"It'll be hard to go back to Tethyr after this."

"Oh come on now Cary, my court isn't that bad now is it?"

"No sir, it's just that…well…all of this…it's just…"

"Amazing. Yes, I know, the courts of Amn are known for their opulence, a level of which I can't say that I would ever adopt for my own. But, yes, I remember when I first came here; I was about your age. I recall being amazed by it all just as you are." The young man smiled at the memory. "I hear that you will be in the royal masque this evening…you will be young Amaunator, will you not?"

"Indeed, I can't wait!" the young boy said a tremor of childish excitement coursing through him at the thought.

Prince Caldaron laughed, "I can see how they would chose you for young Amaunator, golden and filled with vivacity and life, filled with the joy of being young and alive." He said, ruffling the boy's golden blonde hair.

They merely stood there in silence for a moment longer until they heard a call.

"Caradoc! Do you want to see the young prince?"

It was the king, in all of his ermine, bejeweled finery, puffed up like a peacock. At his side stood the queen and a number of attendants and there, just barely viewable due to the small crowd surrounding it, was the bassinet holding the young prince.

"Would I?" he yelled back, and immediately began to run over to see, leaving Prince Caldaron standing alone, shaking his head, with a smile on his face in reaction to the young boy's eagerness. As the boy came to the royal assemblage, he stopped and elegantly bowed to the king and queen.

"Come, come, rise, rise, good Lord Caradoc, no need for such formalities here at this quaint family gathering."

He couldn't help but laugh at that, 'quaint indeed' he thought. "Then with all proper respect, your highness, if it pleases you, please just call me Caradoc, or Cary, everyone else does."

"It does Cary, it does please me." The king said jovially, placing a jeweled hand upon the boy's shoulder. "I have heard many good things about you from Caldaron, my boy, many good things!"

"Thank you your highness." The boy said near to bursting with pride.

"Come now, call me Bart, everyone here does. Ah, but I see that unsettles you, perhaps a simple sir would have to suffice then."

"Very well sir."

The king then saw Prince Caldaron approaching the group and called out,

"You've taught this boy well Caldaron, very well indeed!"

"Yes, I suppose I have, but much of it is innate, I'm afraid I can't take credit for all of it."

"Indeed."

"May I go see the prince now sir?" Caldaron asked.

"Oh, of course, of course, sorry for keeping you, Cary, go right ahead."

Right before he was about to go over to the bassinet, a shrill wail pierced the air.

"Oh dear," the queen said. "Alex has been so fussy today, must be all the people and excitement, he's not use to it I'm afraid, let me go take care of…" the crying had immediately ceased. And instead they heard a light cooing. They all stood there amazed, almost nothing could calm the young prince once he began to cry, and yet he had, so suddenly too. They all looked over at the bassinet and saw the young prince laughing and wriggling his tiny arms and legs. At the bassinet, stood Caradoc, looking down at the little prince, smiling at the little baby's obvious, yet unexplainable, joy at his presence.

"How did you manage that?" asked the king.

"What?"

"Calm him down like that. Hardly anything ever seems to work once he gets going, nothing except hours of endless rocking and singing." Said the queen, with a tired look on her face, even with servants, it had been a long few weeks.

"I didn't do anything, I just went over to take a look at him and he just, immediately stopped crying."

"Curious. My boy, come over here for a moment, if you would." The king said, and as soon as he did, the little prince began to cry again.

"Now go back over there."

He did so, and the prince immediately stopped crying.

"Sir…" Caradoc ventured cautiously, "Could I, carefully, of course, hold the prince?"

"Go right ahead Cary, don't worry about breaking him, babies are quite indestructible, contrary to popular belief. "

Despite what the king said, Caradoc very carefully, almost gingerly, picked up the squealing baby prince.

Seeing the boy gently cradling the baby in his arms made Caldaron smile. If only he had a way to save that moment forever.

"Ow!" Caradoc protested and everyone turned to see that the prince had grabbed a fistful of Caradoc's golden tresses in his pudgy little hand. Little Alexander giggled with mirth, oblivious to or because of Caradoc's discomfort, the older boy couldn't be sure. He gently tried to free his hair from the prince's grip, but soon discovered, with some disconcertion, that the little prince's grasp was extremely tight and he abandoned his efforts to release his hair lest he accidentally hurt the little boy.

"Must be those golden locks of yours, Cary." The king said laughing. "Nobody's got that color around here."

Somehow, Caradoc was able to free his hair. He then took out a dagger that had been hanging from his belt, cut off a small lock of his hair and offered it to the baby, who gladly grabbed it in his little fist and giggled, waving it around. Caradoc couldn't help but to laugh too.

"You can keep it my prince, call it a gift."

In answer, Alexander blew spit bubbles and laughed.

"Think nothing of it." the older boy said.

"Well, everyone, I think it is time to get little Alex here ready for the ceremony." said the queen. Caradoc then handed her the baby who looked at him with a look of concern on his face and then, looking at the little lock of hair still tight in his grasp, he wriggled his arm happily and cooed. And at that the entourage left to prepare for the coming dedication ceremony.

Kidrial quietly surveyed the scene before him, all the excitement and attention to the little prince; he couldn't help but sneer to himself at the thought of it. It wasn't that the crown prince was jealous of the attention being afforded the little baby, no, he was a grown man of twenty-eight years of age. It wasn't that at all. It was just that, well, he knew his father the king to be…past his peak when it came to siring children. Sure the queen was young, but no, the king had been a spent wick for years. And only yesterday he had caught the queen and this Sir Cole in a passionate embrace. It sickened him to no end. There was no doubt in his mind who the father of the prince was. It was Sir Cole. The prince was nothing but the bastard son of a trumped up peasant girl and her trumped up peasant lover, there was likely not a single drop of royal blood flowing through the boy's veins and yet that old coot of a king acted as if nothing were amiss. _And_, to top it all off, he was named one of the prince's 'god-fathers', so to speak, along with prince Caldaron of Tethyr who was standing in the place of his aging, gout-ridden father, who was deemed unable to make the arduous journey.

'Prince Caldaron.' Kidrial thought bitterly. 'He looks upon us with scorn, regardless of how chummy he may be with my father. He frowns upon our 'ostentatious display of wealth''. Well, in Kidrial's mind, Caldaron, well, he was a miser, a self-righteous paladin, known throughout his homeland and beyond for his noble and heroic deeds. It didn't make him dislike the copper haired man any less. Oh how he dreaded to be in the same room as him, to be in the same ceremony with him would be torture, pure and simple.

Despite all of his bitterness, he couldn't say that he disliked his 'brother'. Truth be known, he had always wanted a little brother or sister and this little Alexander that they fawned over was a very cute little baby with a pleasant disposition. The boy seemed to like him too. He always seemed to be happy when Kidrial was with him, and once he even fell asleep in his arms. Kidrial had heard talk that the boy that had come with Caldaron, what was his name? Ah yes, young Caradoc, a veritable wonder that kid, could make the baby prince stop crying just by looking at him, if what the people roundabouts said was true, nothing could get the prince quiet once he was fussy like he had been all day, yet the boy had been cheerful for over an hour now while preparations had been going on for the dedication ceremony, a lock of sun-gold hair clenched in his tiny little fist. Strange…well, kids _were _strange little beings.

"My lord, are you ready for the ceremony?" asked an attendant.

"Yes, of course, let us go. Is everything ready?"

"Yes my lord."

"Very well," he took a breath, "let's be off then."

The majestic royal temple of Ao was full to bursting as the ceremony was about to begin. Prince Caldaron looked around him. So many people…the first few rows were filled with Amnish royalty and nobles, while an untold number of commoners jostled around, eager to get their first glimpse of the baby prince. Caldaron quickly looked for his young ward, ah; there he was, in the front row, an honor given to him as the charge of the prince of Tethyr. From where Caldaron stood, he saw the boy chatting with one of the nobles. He couldn't help but smile when looking at the young boy.

Indeed, Caradoc had made him very proud. He had come along with him as a reward for his outstanding performance in training and to show him more of the world, the boy had seen very little of it in his ten years of life outside of the Tethyrian capital of Zazesspur and his own little cloistered community of Candlekeep. Aside from that, he also brought the boy along at the behest of King Bartimaeus, who had heard much of the boy's prowess. His strength and skill with a sword was quite, no, very outstanding, he was practically a prodigy in that respect and, Caldaron was pleased to find out early in his acquaintance with the boy, that he had a bright soul, and he had been thrilled to take him on as his charge and train him to become a paladin. The king had been amazed by the boy's show of skill and had taken a real liking to him, everyone had.

It was Caldaron's hope to get the boy into the Most Noble Order of the Radiant Heart, an order of paladins and knights from all throughout Faerun who dedicated their lives to the eradication of evil where ever it was found. He was sure the boy would make a fine addition when he came of age.

He was drawn away from his musings when he heard a voice from behind him.

"Caldaron, if you are ready, we are about to begin."

Though the voice was not unfriendly, he couldn't help but to have a vague feeling of distaste upon hearing the voice.

He turned around to see cold green eyes.

"Ah, Kidrial, yes I am ready." He responded. "Look around. Such a joyous occasion, such a rare event, the birth of a prince, you must be very happy to have a little brother." He said, looking out upon the crowd.

The other man gave a grunt. "Hrmph. I suppose so."

Then a gust of wind came through the open door of the temple, wafting the smell of the peasants towards them.

"Ugh," Kidrial said in distaste, "Those commoners… I don't see why my father is so fond of them, allowing them to come to such a celebration as this, their appearance here is hardly fitting for the occasion, best that they be kept in their place. Or, by the gods, at least made to bathe first. "

Caldaron looked at the young man with secret distaste. What had happened to him? Caldaron remembered visiting in the past, indeed, he remembered, however faintly, coming to Kidrial's blessing celebration as a very young child. As a youngster, Kidrial had been a charming little boy, quiet and proper, but charming and good-natured as well. Just like his mother had been. Indeed, Kidrial very closely resembled his mother, Yamilet. He had her mass of curly dark hair, her green eyes, her high cheekbones and lean frame. Indeed, he was his mother's child, and he had loved her dearly. From whence came this change in him? Caldaron couldn't help but ponder over that. That, that coldness that he saw in those green eyes of his, it had not always been there. Then he thought, perhaps it had been the death of his mother all those years ago when Kidrial had been a young boy, not much older than Caradoc was now. Of everyone, Kidrial had loved his mother the most; her death must have crushed him. Caldaron looked back on that time. Yamilet had been pregnant and while she and the king and prince were out on an excursion somewhere, the queen had gone into labor two months early and without a royal physician nearby, the king had called for a midwife from the nearest town. However, despite the midwife's best efforts, the long, painful labor had resulted in a still birth and Yamilet dying.

Caldaron remembered how shortly after that, King Bartimaeus sank into deep mourning and cut off communication with everyone outside his kingdom, then, months later, he took up an aggressive military campaign that lasted for years before he finally came to terms with his grief and found Morwen, the present queen. Had Kidrial come to terms with _his _grief? Somehow Caldaron doubted it, Bartimaeus probably didn't share his grief with his young son and the boy had no outlet for it and he bottled it up inside himself, had festered, turning him bitter and cold. These recent events were sending the young man for a loop, Caldaron mused. Hopefully he would be able to be softened by his baby brother. Caldaron briefly thought about his own kid brother Cordero, born roughly twenty-three years after him. Cordero was such a sweet little innocent boy, the apple of his eye, his name, meaning lamb fit the young boy very well. Thinking on all this made his heart soften. He then said to Kidrial,

"Oh, look!" he said, indicating the door at the other side of the temple, "They are waiting for us, we shouldn't leave them waiting."

"No, indeed not." Replied Kidrial as they both turned and headed over to the king, queen, baby prince, and priest.

After the priest made the preliminary offerings to the gods and blessed all those gathered the ceremony was ready to begin.

"People of Amn!" he announced to the crowd. "It is my great honor to present to you this day your new prince, the son of their most majestic highnesses King Bartimaeus and Queen Morwen. Prince Alexander!"

The whole crowd erupted into cheers at the announcement, so loud so as to be a deafening roar.

"And here today to present him to you and to witness his dedication to Ao and Helm are his Highness King Bartimaeus, her Majesty Queen Morwen, and their Highnesses Prince Kidrial and Prince Caldaron of Tethyr!"

Many in the crowd gasped at the list of such august personages. And as the group of royals processed to the front of the temple to the altar, lead by the king who carried the baby in its ornate ceremonial garb, everyone in the building, nobles and peasants alike, bowed low, rising only when the group had reached where the priest stood and the king, in a jovial voice, bid them rise.

Then, the king passed the baby over to Kidrial and the priest continued with the ceremony.

"Today good people of Amn, Prince Alexander is to be dedicated to the great Over-Father Ao, to become a member of the universal church of the great One. First he is to be anointed with these sacred chrisms, marked with the sign of Ao to mark him as a child of Ao."

He then took the two chrisms, one white and one red and laced them together in an interlacing pattern upon the boy's forehead, symbolizing the balance between order and chaos that Ao protected. He gave a small smirk as he saw the baby made himself go cross-eyed as he tried to see what the priest was putting on his forehead on a spot right between his eyes.

"Now he is to be purified of the evil of this, this holy water as well as the chrism with which he has been anointed will act as a shield to safeguard his soul from such evils as he may confront in this world."

Kidrial then brought Alexander, with Caldaron following, over to the holy font. Kidrial then held his little brother so that his head was above the font and then the priest took a small cup, filled it with water from the font and then gently poured it over the baby's head, and Alexander immediately let out a loud squall. Not in pain or anything, but rather, it was an imperious squall, as though he were saying, "Hey! I did not say that you could pour that water over my head!" Then, believing he had made his point, he quieted once more.

At this, the crowd let out a cheer, that cry was an unofficial end to that part of the ceremony. It was said that if the child were to give out a loud cry as it was being purified with holy water as it was a sign that the child had strong lungs, which if Alexander's cry was any indication, his were very strong indeed. In days long since passed, the cry was thought to be the cry of the demons and other evil spirits as they fled from the child's soul.

Then, after the priest had dried off the baby's head, Kidrial handed Alexander to Caldaron for the second part of the ceremony. Next he was to be dedicated to the watcher god Helm and was therefore to be presented to an elite priest of Helm, part of the upper echelon of the deity's servants who, it was said, were privy to their deity's will and mind more than most, if the legends were true. Also, they were famous for their mastery of the ancient language of the very first members of the priesthood of the Watcher a time long since forgotten. It was said that the ancient language was taught to them by Helm himself. Now it was only spoken by very few, but even the lowliest priest of Helm spoke a variation of the language in special ceremonies as well as in incantations.

Caldaron quickly glanced around the altar. He didn't see the Helmite priest that was to perform the next portion of the ceremony, for that matter, he mused; he didn't even remember seeing a Helmite in the procession into the temple.

He wondered what he was going to do without a priest when, seemingly out of the shadows, emerged a white robed priest with the sky-blue ever-watching eye of Helm embroidered in the front. The hood of his robe was over his face, casting a shadow over his features. A warm smile was upon his face, which was clean shaven and sported the early signs of jowls. Caldaron was surprised that he hadn't seen the man before, he certainly wasn't a small man, standing roughly six feet tall, and was a large corporeal man, fat wasn't the right word, but rather big, stocky, heavily muscled but becoming a bit soft with the passage of years.

Caldaron knelt on one knee before the priest; head bowed reverently, and held out the young prince. Upon seeing the young prince, his expression softened, tears glistening in his eyes, turning them sapphire blue. He gently, reverently, picked up the baby and held it in his arms. Young Alexander cooed and gurgled with glee which brought forth a hearty laugh from the Helmite. Caldaron, who had slowly risen, looked on at the scene before him. The priest was so paternal, so jolly, proud, in a joyous mood as though the child were his own flesh and blood, the prince seemed to be enjoying himself immensely too.

Then, the priest began with his portion of the ceremony, the dedication of the baby prince to the watcher god Helm. Slowly, reverently, almost with a touch of awe, he began intoning the ancient incantation, in a language just as ancient.

"Возљубени на детето мое, ти на моето тело и коски, како блажени вашите родители да се создаде таква е како тебе. Гледај на мене детето во вашата потреба за никогаш нема да се откаже од тебе, Александар Велики, заштитникот на човештвото. Растат силен и мудар. Од овој ден, издаде, ти се посветени на мене, Helm, на набљудувач и бранителот. Секогаш може да ме како горди како што овој ден, слава и себеси и во сите Amn ли."

The whole assemblage watched on, transfixed to the scene. It mattered not that they knew very little of the ancient language that the Helmite was speaking, indeed, the mysterious words added to the glory of it all, in their eyes. When the man took a pause one could hear a pin drop, and he smiled as he saw their excited, amazed faces. Then, in the common tongue, he proclaimed,

"Prince Alexander is now dedicated to Helm, the eternal watcher. The Watcher is pleased and extends his blessing and protection to all gathered on this most joyous of days! Here I present to you, your prince, Alexander, beloved one of Ao the Over-Father and Helm the Watcher!" At the last, he held the infant aloft and the entire temple erupted with cheers, his eyes beaming at their exuberance as well as the baby's gleeful giggles and squirms.

After the cheering had calmed down, the king slowly walked up to the altar with the queen at his side, followed by Prince Kidrial and Prince Caldaron. The priest handed the infant prince to the king, bestowed one final blessing upon the royal assemblage and to great applause and fanfare, they proceeded out of the room leaving the priest behind to give blessings to the people.

A/N: Thank you again for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! If you did, please leave a review. If you hated it then keep it to yourself! JK! That's ok too, just please, no flames! Thanks!


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I _still _do not own Baldur's Gate…

A/N: Thank you for coming back and please enjoy!

Chapter 3: 2 Eleint 1349 - The royal Tethyrian court at Zazesspur 40th year of the reign of King Alaric of Tethyr

All was black. He had spent a long night doing time consuming yet menial work that his mentor had assigned him long before, that he left until the last minute of course. A boy of fourteen years has better things to do besides studying for lessons. Now, sitting at the table, his eyes closed and his head resting on his arms, his head throbbing something awful, he regretted ever letting Dwayne talk him into a drinking contest, which he himself had won of course, if Caldaron had caught him, he would have given him a sound beating, that's for sure.

'You must learn to exercise moderation, young Caradoc' he could almost hear him say, as he had many a time before. 'As a paladin it is up to you to set an example for others to follow.'

"Caradoc, are you listening to anything I'm saying boy?" came a familiar voice.

At this he quickly sat up and straightened himself up, giving a light groan.

"Sir?"

"Cary, moderation and setting a good example is key, a paladin should practice what he preaches. "

"Yes Caldaron…" he responded without much enthusiasm.

"You know Cary, perhaps it would have been better to have conceded defeat yester-eve, rather than put yourself through this."

"You know about that?" Caradoc asked in surprise.

"Of course, I was there having an ale with some friends and I saw your whole fiasco. I decided to let it go, this once, as I cannot say that I would not have done the same at your age." He said with a smile. "You are proud, hate to lose, never wish to appear weak, but there are more important things boy, than just that."

Truthfully, the willful youth did not agree, but then again, he was in that phase of life when young boys always think themselves as much wiser than their 'clueless' elders.

"Now then, I hope you did your reading, and try not to do them quite so late."

Again the boy wondered how he knew that he had done just that.

As if reading his mind, Caldaron continued saying,

"Think of it as a teacher's intuition." He said; a wry smile on his face.

Caradoc glanced around the room, his eyes still adjusting to the light and still blurry from his imbibed state the night before. It was a small room, filled with shelves filled with books that reached to the ceiling. Caradoc figured that he had most likely read them all at one point. There was also a couple globes and several maps; both on the walls and splayed out on a couple small tables. He turned to look out the large window that surveyed the lands surrounding the castle; it was bustling with activity as always. How he wished he were out there rather than cooped up indoors. He liked training to be a paladin but he especially loved the actual physical training at which he excelled.

"Now, Cary, are you paying attention?" he didn't even wait for a response. "What was the reading about?"

"Why did you assign it? All these assignments are so redundant, they are getting old fast." Caradoc complained.

"Redundant?" Caldaron exclaimed in feigned hurt. "I will have you know, young Gillantius, that everything I assign you is of the utmost importance, I don't give you busy work-don't give me that look, it's true. Fine smart ass, what did you take away from it, what was it about?"

At this, Caradoc stood up straight and said haughtily, "The reading was about the great paladin of the 10th century known as Akefia Quick-draw, who was supposedly a demi-god of sorts, rumored to be the son of the war god, Tempus. He was of amazing strength and also possessed a kind-hearted nature. However, he was also his father's son and was known to become wild and exceedingly angry at times."

"Indeed, well done. That is a good start, I'm surprised your inebriated mind remembered that much."

"Do you think such people exist, mi'lord, demi-gods, do gods actually create mortal children?"

"Indeed, Cary, I'm surprised that you would question that. It is known that such people exist on this earth right now. Bhaal for instance, his exploits are well known, it is said that his seed has been sown throughout all of Faerun."

"For what purpose?"

"That is in dispute, it has been said that the answer lies within the writings of Alundo the Wise who was the founder of the great library at Candlekeep, if I'm not mistaken. Perhaps your father could tell you more."

"Hrmph. I doubt that. I can sense that that father is keeping secrets from me."

"Perhaps he is, but all people have their secrets, why should Gorion be any different? You just have to trust him. Now," he said, quickly changing the subject, "What else was in today's reading."

"Akefia warns others, especially young, aspiring paladins of trials and tribulations that he suffered so that those that follow after him may not come to grief."

"And those were?"

Caradoc sighed and rolled his eyes. "Really basic stuff one hears all the time, common sense stuff, don't take revenge on others and don't fuck other men's wives."

"Language, Caradoc." Caldaron said, warningly.

"Sorry, anyway, such things as that are so mundane as to be obvious. What was the point?"

"You'd be surprised, Cary. It would seem that would be the case, yet most people's fall from grace is not something startlingly original nor mind-blowing. The problem with revenge and illicit relationships is that the person is not thinking as clearly as they might otherwise, whether it is due to an all encompassing feeling of hatred, anger, lust, what have you. That is why it is important to have a firm foundation of goodness and righteousness to stand upon; that is why law is so important, without law, there is chaos. Which reminds me, we should get back to basics. Now then, name for me, if you will, young Caradoc, the virtues of chivalry and honesty." He said with a smirk.

"Come on Caldaron, really?" Caradoc responded, annoyed and incredulous.

"Really. Come on now, I'm waiting…" he said, a smile on his face, an eyebrow cocked.

"Ok, fine." Caradoc sighed. But before he could begin, there was a knock on the door.

"Enter." Caldaron called.

In entered a servant of the court with a scroll under his arm. Perspiration was beading his forehead and beginning to slowly course its way down his face. And yet, his face looked strangely pale and he could not bring his eyes to meet those of the crown prince. Caradoc thought he looked absolutely terrified.

Caldaron rose and said in a concerned voice, "Aldonius, you look unwell, is everything ok?"

"I…I wish to speak to you alone, your highness, I come bearing a message from the king, your father."

"Oh, very well then, of course; Caradoc, this is your lucky day, we are done for the day, now run along, but _please_ try to stay out of trouble."

With a grin, Caradoc rose from his seat, bowed and said,

"_Me _get into trouble, your highness, I am saddened that such a thought would even cross your mind."

"Yes, yes, of course, of course, now get out of here you scoundrel." He said, just as light-heartedly as he waved the teen out of the room.

As soon as he closed the door behind him, Caradoc took off at a run through the halls, joy erupting at the realization that he was free for the entire day to do as he pleased. He was so happy in fact, that he let out a loud whoop, not caring who was in hearing range. Soon, he had reached the great oak doors, opened them wide and stepped outdoors, where he was blinded by the sun. Yet, in his euphoria, it didn't really bother him and as his eyes adjusted, he reveled in his freedom, thanking Tymora, the goddess of luck, for his good fortune.

"Hey Cary! What are you doin' out so early?" came a familiar voice. He turned and running towards him was a boy roughly his own age, yet seemingly younger due to the fact that he was so small.

"Hey Dwayne!" Caradoc called back. "The prince let me out early; a messenger arrived with word from the king that he wished to discuss, so here I am."

"How are you feeling? You beat me good last night in that contest." He asked, recalling the previous nights drinking contest, "I thought for sure that you were gonna hurl, that or pass out." He laughed.

Caradoc clutched his head as the memory came rushing back to him. "Must you remind me of that?" he moaned.

"Awww…come on now Cary, suck it up will you, or maybe we should just head back for some more, you know what they say about hangovers, a hair from the dog that bit you is the surest cure."

"No way in _hell _Dwayne." He responded, "I'm not falling for that one."

"Awww… you're just lily-livered is all." said Dwayne tauntingly. Caradoc didn't fall for it, but instead said with a wry smile,

"Nah, but how about a good little mock fight, I bet I can beat you, even with this hangover, with one hand tied behind my back."

"Yeah, well not a chance in hell for that, I'm not _that _stupid. Besides, you just want to show off to those girls over there _and _humiliate me in the bargain." He said referring to a group of girls standing nearby, talking and laughing amongst themselves in a secret manner as girls always do, seemingly oblivious to the fact that the two boys knew that they were talking about them. Then as the girls looked in their direction, the two boys winked at them and Caradoc tossed his golden mane of hair and flexed his impressive biceps, putting on quite a show for them. In response, the girls all giggled and blushed and ran away, making sure that they lifted their skirts up enough as they fled to give the two boys a nice view of their legs, looking back to see Dwayne blowing them kisses and looking at them with a predatory smile on his face.

When the girls had finally left, he looked over to his friend who stood there transfixed and gazing in the direction that the girls fled.

Seeing this, Dwayne waved a hand in front of his friend's face saying, "Helloooo…Cary, is anyone home in there?" When he received no answer, he resorted to whacking Caradoc lightly in the back of the head, and knowing that he was smarting still from his hangover, he figured that it would have the effect that he wanted, and indeed it did.

"Ow! What the fuck was that for?" Caradoc yelled.

"You were standing there like a loon; I had to snap you out of it somehow. You are such a showoff, Cary. The girls seemed to like your little 'show' though."

"Really?"

"Yes really, you idiot! Awww…Caradoc, you're blushing!"

"I am not!" he protested.

"Ha! Yah you are. First your ears were red and now it's moved to your face! You are a riot Cary!" Dwayne said laughing until Caradoc gave him a good cuff to the head to get him to shut up.

There's was an odd friendship. One would be hard-pressed to find two friends who were more different. Caradoc for instance was tall, already standing roughly five feet 9 inches tall, he towered over all of the youths at court and several of the adults as well, and it didn't seem as though he was going to stop growing anytime soon. He was also a very strong youth, strongest of all the trainees at court. As soon as he stopped growing and filled out a bit more he would have a powerful physique that was already beginning to manifest itself. However, as of now, he was like a wolfhound pup that had yet to grow into its great size.

Dwayne, on the other hand, was small for his age, barely over 5 feet tall and slight of build. However, that had its advantages as well. During those rare occurrences when Caradoc was able to convince Dwayne to spar against him, he was usually able to tire him out a vast assortment of feints and other such moves of agility. However, it never seemed to be enough to actually bring the stronger youth down, much to his chagrin. Yet it also proved very helpful when dealing with the assortment of bullies that always pried on seemingly weaker kids, also, the bullies that ever bothered Dwayne, well, they…disappeared, often showing up dead. Caradoc, who had caught on to this disturbing pattern long ago, worriedly asked his friend about it. His only response was that their deaths were only sad coincidences and that he had nothing to do with it. Although Caradoc wasn't sure that he bought it, he didn't push the issue and decided to trust his friend.

From that stemmed the other differences that separated them. Dwayne's black hair that reached just past his ears and his eyes that were a dark shade of gray correlated very well with his dark nature. Despite the fact they were friends, Caradoc had to admit that there was a lot that he didn't know about Dwayne, and he was sure that there was a lot that he didn't _want _to know about him. Dwayne was very mysterious and dark. A streetwise urchin of a boy, tough as nails, which he needed to be to survive life on the street. He was also a bit of a charmer and it was even rumored that he had already fathered a child at his tender age.

Caradoc was much different. He was blonde, his golden locks reaching to his shoulders, giving him a leonine appearance. His looks matched his personality as well. He had a heart of gold and a heart of a lion, brave, perhaps to a fault. He was also a child of privilege, the ward of the prince of Tethyr himself and the son of the famous adventurer-turned- sage, Gorion of the cloistered library of Candlekeep on the Sword Coast. He was, in a few years' time to be allowed into the ranks of paladins in the Most Noble Order of the Radiant Heart. Chivalry was second nature to him. He was kind, open, and honest, always ready to protect the weak and defend the honor of maidens. Dwayne found him too perfect for his own good, thought that he should loosen up and have some fun. The drinking contest and adventures that they went on and the mischief that they made was always of Dwayne's devising. So, needless to say, he was caught off guard when Caradoc said,

"I'm bored, let's go do something fun."

"Like what, pray tell?" Dwayne asked

"Go exploring in the woods perhaps. That is, unless you're too scared…" he said, smirking.

For once, Dwayne was speechless.

"Well if you're too chicken, I guess I'll just go without you…" Caradoc said, turning on his heels and walking away.

Dwayne dropped his head and sighed. The woods, the mysterious woods on the edge of the great Tethyrian forests inhabited largely by elves and druids, who did not take kindly to intruders, they were dark and filled with danger. Not to mention they were home to outlaws and strange, murderous cults, he knew, he had seen them.

"Wait up! I'm coming!" he called to his taller friend who was already several paces away. "Why the woods of all places we could go?"

"Why? Why not? You seem nervous. You aren't scared of the witches and boogey men that live in there, are you?"

"Of course not, it's just that the woods hide many secrets that are better left unknown…"

"So you _are_ scared!" Caradoc mocked.

"No!" and to prove his bravery, Dwayne started running and made it a hundred yards before Caradoc yelled,

"Hey wait up!" and thanks to his long legs, covered the distance in a flash.

The woods were a ways off and so they walked the rest of the way in silence, Caradoc thinking excitedly about how he would be able to boast to all the girls that he had braved the woods, oh, how they would flock about him as he told his tale, with some modifications of course, to make him appear even more heroic. Dwayne, on the other hand was worried. Not for the reason that Caradoc supposed. No, that wasn't it at all. It was just that he had been in the woods before and he knew what to expect in there. Caradoc didn't. Dwayne hoped that he would be wrong about what he knew awaited them there. He could feel his pulse quicken and his stomach turn with dread. Dread. Fear. It had been a long time since he had felt such emotions. They were below him as far as he was concerned. What if he ran across people he knew? He had worked hard to acquire Caradoc's trust and friendship, and he had to admit that there was much he didn't know about his friend, he didn't know how Caradoc would react if they met up with Dwayne's other 'friends', but he doubted that it would be good.

"Sit down now, Aldonius!" The prince said jovially gesturing over to an empty chair nearby, trying to alleviate some of the messenger's obvious nervousness. The messenger, Lord Tombelthen, known affectionately by Prince Caldaron as Aldonius, had stood there uncomfortably exchanging pleasantries with the prince since Caradoc left, yet seemed unwilling to divulge the message, which was his reason for coming.

"I'm afraid I must humbly decline your request, my lord." said Lord Tombelthen, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, not quite willing to make eye contact with Caldaron, perspiration beading upon his pale face.

"Very well, I must insist however, upon hearing your message."

"Oh, yes, the message…" Aldonius said, dabbing at his brow with a kerchief.

"Well…"

"Please sir, please understand that I merely deliver the message…"

"Of course, now, the message…" said Caldaron, holding out his hand to receive the message. However, his hand remained empty and his mouth fell open in shock as it became apparent that the "message" was not a message at all, but rather a proclamation as Aldonius unraveled the scroll and read,

"Let it be known that, by decree of his royal majesty, King Alaric, that his son the prince Caldaron is to be placed under house arrest until the either the death of King Alaric or the majority of the prince Cordero. "

"What?" exclaimed Caldaron, the usually calm man quickly losing patience and snatching the scroll from the messenger's hands, reading it himself and seeing that it did indeed say what Lord Tombelthen spake and bore the royal seal of King Alaric, his father.

"Has the old man lost his mind?" he asked, more to himself than to his guest.

"Sir, he fears for your safety and for the succession. Should anything befall you before Prince Cordero reaches his majority in eight years time…well, the king, your father, fears that he will not be able to see Cordero reach maturity."

"Well, I understand that, but why this? Why now?"

"My lord, I do not think I need remind you of one of your most recent excursions with the…order that you are affiliated with."

"The Order of the Most Radiant Heart, yes, I am affiliated with it. Which mission do you speak of?" he asked, knowing full well which one was being implied and it was _he_ who was now unable to meet the gaze of the other.

"You and your order's excursion against the fallen paladin Aaron Gatis and his followers in the deserts of Calimshan, we nearly lost you, milord, your health had been fragile for months afterwards. The king, your father, does not wish to risk such a thing happening again, not with your brother being the only clear heir to the throne, after yourself. "

"As a paladin of Torm, I owe my allegiance to the order-"

"As a citizen and a prince of the realm," Lord Tombelthen interrupted, finding his courage, "your allegiance lies with your king, your country, and your father. All other considerations must be secondary to those." He said, looking the prince straight in the eye.

"I am a man full grown, I am capable of making my own decisions-"

"Be that as it may, you are a subject to your father the king and you owe him your obedience and respect."

"I _do _respect him!"

"Then obey me boy." Came a voice from the doorway.

"Father!" exclaimed Caldaron

"Caldaron, my boy, why do you give Lord Tombelthen here so much grief?"

"I apologize father, it is just…"

"Just that you think I am being an old paranoid fool for doing this to you. Perhaps I am, yet, in this I am willing to follow the old adage, 'It's better to be safe than sorry'. I know the order means a lot to you, but I think that your country should mean more. If anything should happen to you, Cordero would be the next in line and should anything happen to me…"

The thought, the horrible thought hung in the air unspoken, yet thought by all. Were Caldaron and Alaric to die before young prince Cordero came of age in eight years hence, there would be a boy-king upon a throne an event which was almost always succeeded by misery and civil war. The ancients spoke true when they had warned 'Woe to thee oh land, whose king is but a child'

Finally they reached the edge of the great forest. The sky had become dark and clouded, threatening rain. Caradoc, seeing a well worn path not far from where they stood, started down it. Still Dwayne hesitated, remaining where he was, his face pale and his heart filled with trepidation. Finally, Caradoc turned around and called for him to follow.

"But…what about wild animals or outlaws, we have no way of protecting ourselves…" Dwayne responded, knowing full well what a coward he sounded like and felt ashamed and confused at his uncharacteristic fear.

"We'll be fine, trust me, what the hell has gotten into you? I've never seen you like this, come on, we won't be in there long, it looks like it's going to rain, now hurry up!"

He was waiting for him. Dwayne knew that he had no choice, that Caradoc would never let him live it down if he chickened out.

"Fine, I'm coming!" he called, as he broke into a run to catch up.

Realizing the path that Caradoc had chosen was well worn, Dwayne felt a bit better as he saw several loggers and the assorted hunters, although he hoped they wouldn't come across any elves or druids who disliked such intrusions in "their" forest. Then, he felt a drop of rain fall and said,

"Don't you think we ought to turn back now, it wouldn't do to get caught in a storm out here. "

But his friend wasn't listening, his attention being focused upon something that was, at the moment, out of Dwayne's sight.

"What are you looking at Cary?" he asked as he walked over to his friend who was crouching close to the ground.

"Look at this." Caradoc said mystified, pointing to a path that was partially hidden by brush. "It looks like there was a struggle here." He said. Indeed, it did. The soft ground had been scuffed up and had many footprints, signs of something having been dragged along and…blood?

"It's probably just a path that was used by a hunter, dragging along his kill." Said Dwayne, not taking much interest in it.

"Then why try and hide it? The path is fresh and yet it has the appearance of being overgrown. Someone doesn't want us to follow the path by the looks of it."

"Then let's not." Said Dwayne, who was eager to leave as the rain began to come down harder by the minute.

"No, we need to investigate!" said Caradoc, already moving away the brush

"Are you out of your mind?" Dwayne exclaimed in response, but knew even as the words left his lips that they fell upon deaf ears. So he decided to follow.

As they followed the path, that feeling of apprehension that Dwayne had felt earlier returned with a vengeance. A long time passed as they followed the path. How long, neither could say as they ventured deeper and deeper into the forest, the rain now pouring down, drenching them, lightning soon becoming their only light, the thunder crashing so loud neither boy could hear themselves think, and still Caradoc wouldn't hear about turning back. And as they progressed, the blood that had hardly been noticeable when the path began, had become as unto a river, mixing with the mud and rain. Dwayne felt his stomach rise up in his throat, since when had he become so queasy around blood? Caradoc too, felt his stomach churn and could feel his pulse pounding in his ears, yet he was too proud to turn back.  
Then, they heard something. At first they dismissed it as the wind or as the howl of an animal. But as they continued, they continued to hear it, and the sound became clearer. It was screams, screams of unfathomable pain, what could make such a sound, it sure didn't sound human. And then, as the screaming continued to become more and more distinct, they noticed the path before them begin to brighten, lit by an unseen source. Against all common sense, they continued. Then, they heard, among the crashing thunder, the howling wind, and the unearthly screams, low droning, almost akin to chanting, as of yet, however, they were unable to distinguish it completely from the sounds of the storm that was surrounding them.

Again, they continued on, as if compelled by an unseen force until they came to a small, make-shift clearing, and all became clear. Before them stood six dark figures in hooded robes, akin to those worn by monks. Their robes were embroidered with a skull upon a black sunburst. They were standing in a semi-circle around an altar, which was little more than a stone slab, surrounded by bright torches which must have been lit by a magical source to have endured the storm. But both boys were stopped dead in their tracks at the sight of what was _on_ the altar. They had found the source of the screaming, it was a boy, roughly their own age, perhaps a bit younger, naked, and tied with ropes to the rock slab, emitting a scream of unfathomable pain, and it was easy to see why. Another of the robed figures was standing at the altar, a long, bloody knife in hand, the whole of the clearing was awash with blood and smelled thickly of it. Upon the boy's body were countless symbols of some mysterious language gouged into him by the wicked blade and upon his chest was engraved, by the same knife, an intricate design, a jawless skull upon a sunburst, the same symbol embroidered on the robes of the mysterious figures.

"Oh gods…" said Caradoc in shock, fighting back the overpowering urge to scream as well as vomit, the second battle he lost, heaving his stomach's contents onto the ground. Dwayne, he knew what this was, he has seen it before, and as such, he knew they were in deep shit. It was an offering to the gods; to one in particular, he didn't even need to hear the droning or the high priest's speech to understand.

"Death to all who oppose Cyric! Great god of strife, deception, illusion, intrigue, lies, murder, and the dead! Prince of Lies! The Dark Sun! Great deity of the Supreme Throne! You, foolish mortal, who does not believe in his supremacy, shall perish here and your blood shall be as a libation to the great god Cyric!..."

"Nobile Helm, dammi il potere di sconfiggere i tuoi nemici e liberare la terra dei loro macchia più male." 'Great Helm, grant me the power to vanquish thine enemies and rid the earth of their most evil taint.'

Dwayne whirled his head to the side to where Caradoc stood, his eyes falling upon Caradoc, standing there, his eyes flowing with tears, his jaw set in fury. Clenched tight in his fist a glowing war hammer had appeared, a gift from his patron god Helm, all paladins and clerics, even those merely in training, were privy to some small portion of magic that allowed them to draw upon some of their god's might in a moment of need.

Grabbing his friend's arm, Dwayne said in a harsh whisper,

"Caradoc! Are you out of your damn mind? If we make any sort of sound, if they find out we are here, we are dead! Do you hear me? Dead!"

"I've got to do something! We can't just abandon him to that fate." Even as he said those words, he knew it was too late; the boy's wounds were far too grievous to allow for any chance that he would live. At this point, death would be a blessing.

"Caradoc, we are too late, we would just die as well-"

"Get the hell off me." Growled Caradoc, shaking free from Dwayne's grasp on his arm. And, before Dwayne's disbelieving eyes, Caradoc ran off at full speed towards the scene of the ritual, roaring with anger, swinging the hammer.

Dwayne peeked into the clearing from behind the trees and brush that had been hiding them from view. His blood ran cold as he heard the chanting stop and they all turned in Caradoc's direction.

"Kill him." The head priest said before turning his attention back onto his sacrifice.

Caradoc gripped his war hammer as he glared at the seven priests who were staring him down. It was seven-on-one and then he'd still have to get to the last priest before he managed to kill that boy.

Caradoc rushed forward as two priests held out their hands in front of them as they chanted, both releasing magical spells in his direction. He was able to deflect them both, sending one, a lightning spell spiraling back at its caster, killing the priest instantly. Then, sensing someone behind him, he turned and swung his hammer, making contact with the side of the priest's head, smashing it to pieces, but not before the priest was able to release a spell that sent him flying several paces, crashing onto the earth, slick with mud and blood. Groaning, he arose, only to come face-to-face with cold, gray eyes laced with amusement.

"You're too late, foolish boy." The head priest said smiling wickedly, holding in his hand a bloody heart, cut just moments ago from the boy's chest. Caradoc's blood ran cold, filled with anger and dismay.

"The ritual has been completed giving great power to the great god Cyric and, by extension, to us, his most devout followers. You shall be the next to be sacrificed to him. Your strength shall be most pleasing to him, rather than this pathetic offering we have just given unto him."

With all the rage and might he could muster, Caradoc swung his war hammer at the priest, not caring about the other five priests behind him.

The priest shook his head in amusement and simultaneously with the other priests, he sent a spell right at Caradoc from close range, the result knocking the war hammer out of Caradoc's hand and sending him flying all the way back to the edge of the clearing smashing against a tree, and he could feel his skull crack from the impact. Still, he tried to rise, only collapse back down. The priests closed in on him ready to strike when, Caradoc heard a voice. It was familiar but so different.

"Back down, now." The voice said menacingly. The priests stopped and looked at him. It was Dwayne, his hands out, magic swirling around them, ready to be released at the first one that disobeyed, his gray eyes burning with fury.

"He interrupted our most sacred ritual." The head priest said "He shall die for the greater glory of Cyric the Dark Sun, both of you shall for your transgressions!" he bellowed as he and his fellow priests began to chant their spells.

"Fools! You had your chance!" said Dwayne as he released his spell, which silenced them all, so they could not give voice to their spells and thus negating them. Then he cast another, which made them paralyzed, rooted to the very spot at which they stood. "I'll be back later to deal with you. I have more important things to do then worry about worms such as yourselves, false priests!"

Then, Dwayne turned and saw Caradoc, slumped against the tree, losing consciousness, blood pouring from his nose and mouth and coating his hair. He ran over to him, lightly placing a hand upon his shoulder.

"Caradoc, speak to me. Are you alright?"

'What a dumb question!' he thought to himself, 'of course he's not alright you idiot, and if you bring him back to the prince as a corpse you will be in deep shit.'

He got no response, Caradoc was out cold. Dwayne knew he had to act fast. He could feel the newly acquired strength coursing through him; he could at least thank the fool priests for that. He gently lifted Caradoc's head, keeping one hand on the back of his head. He could feel the deep fractures and the blood seeping onto his hand.

"Damn it Caradoc, you fool." He said quietly with worry. He then started his restoration spells and as he chanted, he could feel the fracture on Caradoc's skull fuse back together and see his eyes begin to flutter open and begin to moan in pain as he regained consciousness. Dwayne gave a sigh of relief at this; he was surprised that the spells worked so quickly and so well. He quickly jumped out of the way as Caradoc began to vomit, getting on all fours and retching.

"You all right now Cary?" asked Dwayne, as Caradoc began to recover from his bout of sickness.

"No! I am not all right! He's dead! I couldn't do anything!" he raged, his head throbbing with pain. Then, he saw the immobile priests and slowly got up to rise and began to move towards them. Dwayne, seeing his intent however, he caught up to him without much difficulty as Caradoc was still staggering, struggling to maintain balance thanks to his injury.

"Cary…" Dwayne said, holding him back with a hand on his shoulder.

"No, I want to kill him, he deserves death…"

"Yes and he shall die, I will deal with him later, but we need to get out of here first, you still aren't a hundred percent and we need to get back before people start worrying."

Caradoc was still furious but he was also tired, his strength failing him, his adrenaline gone.

"What about the boy? We can't just leave him here." Said Caradoc looking over to the dead boy, his chest carved open, his blood starting to congeal around him, his skin pale and his eyes wide open in death.

"They can't do anything more to him." Said Dwayne, knowing even as the words left his mouth that he was lying, much could be done with a dead body, he and Caradoc both knew it.

"We will tell them about it when we get back and they can deal with it. There is nothing we can do; you can hardly walk as it is. I can't be dragging a dead body along as well."

"Just give me a moment." Caradoc said quietly, walking slowly and unsteadily to the dead boy.

As he gently closed the boy's eyes, he prayed a blessing over him, he wasn't a priest but he prayed that Helm would hear his prayer anyway.

"Dear Helm, lead this innocent to the afterlife, may you bestow your blessing and peace upon him and allow him to rest in peace undisturbed and avenged." There was nothing further he could do, and he knew it.

"Come on Cary, we should go." Said Dwayne quietly.

They slowly began their way out of the clearing and back onto the forest path that led to the castle grounds.

"Dwayne?" Caradoc asked after they had been walking for a while.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

Dwayne merely nodded in response as they continued on.

It was late and the storm raged outside. Inside the presence chamber of the king and prince, it was warm and bright. However, that did nothing to dispel the sense of foreboding and dread that filled the prince as he paced the floor. After his talk with the king, he had wished to speak with his young ward Caradoc. So he had sent servants searching the whole of the palace grounds trying to find him. To no avail, it seemed as though he had simply disappeared. This normally wouldn't have worried Caldaron, however, as the day progressed and the storm continued to rage, and still there was no trace of the boy, he began to worry.

"Will you sit down?" asked the king. "I know it has been quite a day for you and you are worried that young Gillantius hasn't been seen, but try to relax, trust in Torm."

At those last couple words, Caldaron seemed to calm down slightly, taking a deep breath, silently sending up a prayer to his patron god Torm the True, god of law, duty, loyalty, obedience, paladins and truth, just to name a few. The patron god of his homeland and one that he had personally pledged to serve. Praying to him was one of the ways he found his strength, especially now when the world seemed to be falling apart. Finally, he stopped his pacing and took his seat next to his father. Then there was an announcement.

"Pardon me, your majesties," said a guard, "But there is a visitor at our gates, should he be let in?"

"Oh, yes of course man, ask for his name and then send him in. What a way to show Tethyrian hospitality by making the poor man wait out in this storm."

"As you say sir, it has already been done."

"Well then, why say that?" asked Caldaron, irritated.

The king placed a hand on his arm to calm and silence him.

"Pardon my son's outburst, he has had a stressful day, we both know that you are performing your duties as you should. Please, by all means, send the man in to see us, I won't have him standing in the hall all night catching his death of cold. Who is our mysterious guest sir?" the king enquired.

"He claims to be one Lord Gorion of Candlekeep, my lord."

At that name, the prince blanched, but the king remained unperturbed at the news and said,

"Well then, of course, by all means, send him in. It has been a long time since we have seen him."

"Very well my lord." Said the servant as he went to open the door.

An instant later, a hooded figure appeared in the room, as the figure stepped forward, it revealed a man, no older than the prince still drenched from traveling in the storm. Lord Gorion of Candlekeep, an adventurer since his youth, a powerful mage, despite his youth, a friend of the mysterious organization known as the Harpers, and now beginning to spend more and more time at the cloistered library keep founded by the great sage and prophet Alundo the wise, in order to give a stable home life to his only child, Caradoc.

He bowed before the two royals and in a flash, the king was before him offering him a hand to shake.

"My dear Gorion, it has been too long since we have seen you, you must stay a while with us and tell us with your adventures. I hope that your journey was kind to you."

"Indeed, sire, and thank you." He said in his characteristically polite tone. The journey seemed to have been arduous, but he would have been the last to admit that.

Caldaron was always surprised at how little Caradoc looked like his father Gorion. The latter having dark brown eyes and, in his youth, nearly raven-black hair, although it was now becoming gray before its time, in comparison to his son's golden blond hair and blue eyes. And Caradoc's face was longer and leaner than his father's round face. Indeed, the only thing that Caldaron could see that made the two at all similar in appearance was their height, Gorion was a tall man, roughly six feet tall and Caradoc showing signs that he was going to be even taller. However, even in that were differences. Despite his height, Gorion had a stocky appearance, while Caradoc with his leanness of build and long legs; he had a way of appearing taller than he already was. The prince was drawn out of his musings as Gorion continued,

"I do not wish to impose…"

"Nonsense! You shall stay for as long as you need, it will be no trouble at all" said the king.

"Again, thank you," the younger man said, "however, there is important business that needs my attention and I wish to speak with my son, could you please bring him to me?" he asked.

"Important business? I hope that all is well? Your cryptic words have me worried." Said the king.

Gorion paused at this before speaking, a look of pain showing in his eyes before he could completely hide it. "No, nothing that you need concern yourself with. Just that my colleagues and I, along with some Harpers have come across something that needs addressing."

At the mention of the Harpers, that mysterious group that Gorion was allied with, the king let the matter drop, knowing that the matter must be grave indeed. So grave in fact that he wondered to himself why Gorion would wish to get his young son involved, but he pried no further.

"But, as I mentioned earlier, I wish to speak to my son, if I may, do you know where he is?"

During this conversation, prince Caldaron, veteran of hundreds of battles, vanquisher of evil and famed paladin of the Order of the Most Radiant Heart, sat in his chair, his skin sickly white, sweat dripping down his face, his hands clutching at the arms of the chair until his knuckles were stark white. None of this escaped Gorion who, to the prince's horror, turned and said to him,

"Prince Caldaron, are you feeling well? What is bothering you?" he asked, his voice filled with concern.

"Well…you see…" Caldaron nearly croaked out of his dry throat, "I'm af-afraid sir, that…we cannot do as you request of us." Caldaron finally finished, cursing himself for his stuttering.

"I'm not quite sure what you mean." Responded Gorion, his head cocked to one side, his face sporting a look of confusion.

Caldaron took a deep breath before saying what he knew had to be said.

"We don't know where he is. I had a messenger come to me during our lesson and I excused him for the day and he hasn't been seen since, we've looked all over the grounds, it is like he just disappeared." He finished, slumping in his chair, secretly amazed that Gorion hadn't interrupted him.

"Do you mean to say that you have no idea where my only child is, that he is out there in the storm?" asked Gorion, trying to stay calm, yet quickly losing that battle, his voice, indeed his whole body shaking in the effort.

Before Caldaron could respond, an argument could be heard from the other side of the great oaken doors that Gorion had just come through a couple minutes before.

"Damn you! I don't care! We need to see the prince now damn it! Get the hell out of my way!" came a voice from the other side that no one in the room recognized. Then, a moment later, the large doors were unceremoniously flung open and in came a small boy soaking wet and covered with blood dragging along another, taller, boy who was nearly unconscious, also soaked with blood and water, behind them were the guards, hot on their heels.

The king told the guards to stand down, and they immediately did. Taking a closer look at the two youths, they recognized the taller one.

"Caradoc!" Gorion and Caldaron yelled at the same time running over to him, Gorion reaching him first.

"My boy, what has happened?" exclaimed Gorion.

"The woods…" Caradoc was able to say.

"The woods? What about the woods."

"Priests…Cyric's…sacrificing boy…tried…to stop them." Caradoc explained.

Gorion wanted to weep at seeing his son in such a manner. His face bruised and covered with blood, his golden hair turned a murky red with blood and rain. The poor boy could not even stand on his own, needing the support of the smaller boy.

"Who are you?" Gorion asked curtly to the smaller boy.

"Dwayne, I'm a friend of Caradoc's. We were adventuring after his lesson in the forest and we came across priests of Cyric performing a ritualistic human sacrifice of a boy. Caradoc tried to stop it but got really hurt. I was able to patch him up somewhat, but he's lost a lot of blood and he also suffered a really bad concussion, he got weaker and weaker as we were coming back here. He needs medical attention right away!" said the boy. "Who are you?" asked the boy, his gray eyes looking suspiciously into brown ones.

"I'm his father." Gorion said

"Oh."

"Give him to me, I'll get him to the medical ward." Said Gorion, taking Caradoc's battered form from the boy.

Moving past Gorion, Caldaron went to question the young Dwayne, and yet, when he got there, the boy had left as quickly and abruptly as he came, the guards looking towards the exit in vain for he was already out of sight.

"Here, follow me." Said Caldaron, still in shock at what had just transpired. "I'll lead you to the healers." His mind was a whirlwind. What in the hells was going on? Followers of Cyric in sight of the castle grounds? Human sacrifices? Young Caradoc putting himself in such danger as all that? And that young Dwayne boy. Who was he? He had seen him with Caradoc the previous night in the tavern. He knew that he was not a boy employed by the castle, that he was most likely a peasant boy or some such from beyond the castle walls, how was he involved in all of this? The boy was already gone, beyond his reach. He would have to ask Caradoc once he recovered, yet he didn't know how long that would be.

Cyric, still splattered with blood, prepared to enter the room where the other gods awaited him. Ao had spoken to him, mentioning that he was to attend a hearing. Of course, the over-father of the gods would remain neutral as he nearly always did. Cyric knew why he was being called here of course; it was due to the fact that those foolish priests of his had encroached upon the sacred forests of Tethyr, forests which, since time immemorial, have been holy grounds for the elves. He suspected that he'd be facing Rillifane Rallathil, the elven god of nature, Torm, the patron god of Tethyr, and perhaps even Corellon Larethian, the creator of the elves and first among the Seldarine, the elven pantheon, though he doubted that this would warrant his attention.

He figured that he should have cleaned himself up; make himself look presentable before appearing before this august group of beings, however, he really couldn't get himself to care. Despite his youth and that he had only recently joined the pantheon of the gods; he was invested through his own dubious merit, by Ao, as the god of murder, death, and the dead, among other titles, making him among the most powerful beings in the pantheon. He was aware of the hatred this incurred him from the rest of the gods, but, he really couldn't bring himself to care. Running a hand through his dark hair, he walked out into the great hall.

The moment he took a step in, he stopped at seeing the presiding god. It was none of the ones he had thought it would be, although all three of them _were_ there. No, this changed things; he looked into sky-blue eyes, cold as stone. Helm, the protector god, beloved of Ao, was sitting there, his jaw set, veins in his neck bulging slightly, his whole being emanating a raw power only an ancient being such as Helm could. Cyric had _not_ been expecting this. Everything else faded away, all he saw was Helm, one of the most powerful of the gods, sitting there, glowering at him. Seeing how pristine Helm was, with his beard perfectly trimmed, hair perfectly coifed, and dressed in the very best attire, made him second-guess his decision to come straight there without any sort of cleaning up.

"So…where have you been that you didn't feel bothered to look presentable while meeting with us…mortal?" Helm asked. His voice amused and taunting, belying the simmering anger Cyric could see behind those blue eyes.

Gray eyes met blue as Cyric responded haughtily, "I don't see how that is any of _your_ concern, Lord Helm."

Helm, not known for his patience, was quickly losing it. "Oh but it is. I believe that this whole meeting has been called in order to address it, as a matter of fact."

"I don't understand what you mean." Cyric said, "Please enlighten me on what _I_ have done personally to displease anyone here." Cyric said, gesturing to the assemblage.

"You know very well. Your priests trespassed in the sacred Tethyrian forests. That is a great dishonor not only to the elves but to also Torm, who is the patron to the humans who live in Tethyr."

"Those deeds were not mine, but those of rogue priests."

"Oh? So you wish to have us believe that the 'great and powerful Cyric' is incapable of controlling his own followers?" Helm returned, eyebrow cocked, arms folded over his chest.

"Please, I know, as well as you that I cannot control what my followers do at all times. I assure you," he said turning to Corellon, Rillifane, and Torm, "that I have done all that is in my power to have the miscreants pay for their trespasses, as they offend not only you but myself as well with their disobedience. I assure you that they will not bother any of you again, and anyone who dares to do as such again, will do so at the risk of incurring my wrath."

Cyric looked at the figures before him and tried to push the awe out of his mind. Only a couple years ago, during the height of the Time of Troubles, he had been a mortal human thief and now he numbered amongst the mightiest of the gods. The three deities standing before him conferred with one another but, as he thought they would, they seemed to be content with his response, for, in truth, what more could he do?

"Well, they seem content with how I have dealt with this most unfortunate matter, which makes me wonder, why are _you_ presiding? What have I done to displease you Helm?"

"Oh, I believe that you know, Cyric." Helm said coldly.

"Enlighten me." Cyric said, not being able to hide a small smirk, yet he truthfully, he was a bit confused, though he wasn't about to let that on.

"The sacrifice Cyric! The gruesome and bloody sacrifice of a child at the hands of your clerics _that _is what has angered me. _That_ is how this all falls under my jurisdiction. The protection of the innocent and helpless –"

"Falls to you, yes Helm, and if you cannot protect your own from a few pathetic clerics, then I see your power has truly waned."

"**SILENCE!" **Helm bellowed rising from his seat. "You _damn _well know that I am not able to constantly be in a human avatar and protecting everyone. But you allowed your priests to do this knowing that it would anger me!" Said Helm, his face contorted in rage.

Cyric kept on smirking. It was so fun, and easy to rile Helm, he was so pugnacious and proud that he played right into his hand.

"Oh no Helm, you can't possibly be in a human avatar all the time. And when you are, you are too busy fucking mortal women to-"

"**CYRIC!" **yelled Helm again, "I will not have you stand here and malign me! I admit that I may have consorted with a mortal woman at some point, but not to the endangerment of those under my protection. I am _rarely_ on Faerun personally; I act through my mortal followers in various ways. _You_ however, are often in mortal form and dwell among mortals, which leads me to another matter."

"And that would be?..."

"The fact that you have tried to deceive us the entire time!"

"How so?"

"Don't speak unless given permission. You have tried to make us believe that you are completely unaccountable to the actions of your clerics. Is that correct."

"That is correct. I have also done all that is in my power to alleviate the situation."

"That you have done, but you are skirting the issue."

"And what issue would that be?" asked Cyric, now openly showing his confusion.

It was Helm's turn to smirk in triumph, yet his chest was still heaving in anger.

"The issue that, although you may not have been able to predict nor stop renegade priests from encroaching upon the Tethyrian forests, _however, _and this is a big 'however' so you'd do well to listen mortal, you _could_ have stopped the sacrifice but did you-I'll answer this for you, no you _didn't_. That role fell to a child. A child, Cyric, not even old enough to grow whiskers yet, tried to do what _you _were completely capable of doing on your own. The blood of those miscreant priests is still upon your face, indicating to me that you were in human form as you meted out your punishment, yet, it is my argument that you were perfectly capable of preventing the sacrifice from being carried out, but you did nothing, as would befit your ilk, because you grow stronger with each and every sacrifice and prayer made unto you, just the same as we do. So why _would_ you have stopped it? You had everything to gain."

Cyric blanched. Helm knew much. Too much.

"You endangered another child because you refused to stop what was your responsibility to stop. You would have us believe that you could not have prevented what transpired in the forests of Tethyr this night, but the truth of the matter is, for whatever reason, even though it was in your power to stop the proceedings, you didn't. You killed them not to make amends but to assuage your wounded pride."

"You mention one mortal boy. There were two besides the one sacrificed. What of the other?" asked Cyric, testing the waters.

"I believe we have already addressed that, although if you wish to enlighten the rest, then be my guest." Helm responded.

Cyric remained silent.

"Very well then, if there is nothing more you wish to say in your defense…"

"Defense? What exactly am I being accused of?" Cyric ask incredulously.

Helm rolled his eyes in exasperation, speaking as though to a small child.

"You have been accused of and have been found guilty-"

"Guilty? By whom?"

"You have been found guilty of a grievous misuse of power by your peers."

"You can't be serious!" exclaimed Cyric, his face registering equal parts disbelief, anger, and disgust. "I have been found guilty by you! You say you are the aggrieved party as well as judge! You cannot be both!"

"Tyr? What do you think?" asked Helm to the god of justice.

"You are following the correct path of justice, I doubt there is anyone here who would disagree with you and if anyone does, I advise them to speak up." This was followed by silence and Helm continued.

"Thank you. Now, as for the punishment. As this is the first time and you are yet green in our ways, I shall be lenient this once. Kelemvor Lionsbane, come forward please."

At this Cyric's eyes became cold and his hands and jaw clenched in fury as he saw a serious young man, not much older than himself step forward. This man he had known whilst still human, they had found the Tablets of Fate together along with Bane, god of Strife. He had slain him with the aid of Bane in the form of the sword Godsbane, trapping Kelemvor's soul within, which had recently been released from its confines by the gods, for what purpose, they had yet to reveal.

"My lord." Spoke the grave young man bowing before Helm.

"Young man, by the authority of Ao and witnessed by the divine personages gathered here, I invest you with the titles of God of Death, of the Dead, and Judge of the Damned.

Cyric's jaw nearly hit the floor in disbelief. He was being stripped of much his authority, and just like that!

"I protest!"

"I'm sure you do, although such petty protestations mean little right now, if you will allow me to continue…"

"No! There is more to this than you are letting on! Lenient indeed!"

"Do you wish me to deprive you of even more of your titles?" Helm asked with a warning tone. "Then I suggest that you remain silent. Now, Lord Kelemvor, do you accept these titles as I have bestowed them to you?"

"With my entire heart and strength great lord Helm." The young man said gravely.

'Yes,' Helm thought. 'He may be cold and grave, but he has a good and just heart, he shall do well.'

"Very well then, you may depart now if you wish, I am sure there is much that you wish to get yourself familiar with."

"Yes sir, thank you sir." Said Kelemvor as he left.

"Oh, don't be so cross Cyric." Said Helm to the fuming young god. "You have many domains you rule over, lies, intrigue, strife, deception, illusion, and we cannot forget the title of Lord of Murder you have recently usurped from killing Bhaal, I am sure that you will not miss ruling over the dead, will you?"

"Is this mockery of a trial still being conducted or may I leave?" Cyric asked as calmly as he could.

"There is nothing else we need talk about. I will find you again if I think of something, you may depart if you wish." Responded Helm, making a sweeping motion with his arm indicating that Cyric could leave. And so, without another word, Cyric briskly turned and left.

Outside Cyric fumed. Helm had been toying with him the entire time. The whole 'trial' was a travesty, Helm knew how it would end even before he, Cyric, arrived, he just knew it. He could hear the mockery in Helm's voice, the old man thought he had the upper hand in this and that Cyric was now cowed and would be a subservient boot-licker from now on. The fool, that old fool, Cyric though. Cyric knew that he had hit upon several nerves during the trial, he would just have to play that to his advantage, yet at the moment, he was not sure how. This trial was very personal in nature, Cyric could tell that for sure. But why? His mind was running the proceedings of the trial over and over again looking for a clue he had missed that would explain Helm's actions. A myriad of possibilities ran through his mind and were discarded one by one. He knew he had to get back to the mortal realms of Faerun, back to the scene of the crime so to speak, it was there that the clues were hidden, waiting to be discovered. He would not let this stand

A/N: Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it! Also, an important character is making his/her appearance in the next chapter so, please, check back soon! I love reviews, but please, no flames. Also for any international readers, if you want, feel free to review in your native tongue, I'll figure it out. That is what google translate is for


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I continue to NOT own Baldur's Gate, that honor belongs to Bioware, if I'm not mistaken!

Chapter 4: 15 Eleint 1349 -The royal Tethyrian court at Zazesspur 40th year of the reign of King Alaric of Tethyr

He could only hear incoherent, mournful, angry mumbling.

"Come on now, Caradoc, turn around. I can't hear you when you are talking into your pillow." Said Gorion, from his spot seated in a chair next to the bed in which his son lay, reaching over to stroke the boy's hair, which caused him to quickly turn over in bed in annoyance. Gorion gave a small smile.

"So, what were you saying?"

At this Caradoc turned away from him and facing the wall said,

"Dad! I'm fine! Let me get up"

In annoyance, Gorion grabbed his son by the shoulders and turned him over to face him.

"Clearly you are not Cary. You took on a group of Cyric's clerics. That shows foolishness even in the attempt regardless of what good you were trying to accomplish. You could easily have been killed and what in the name of the gods would that have accomplished? You have to learn to pick your fights more wisely Cary."

Caradoc's face burned with embarrassment and anger in almost equal parts but it was anger alone that was reflected in his voice when he responded.

"Then what, pray tell, would you have me do? Save kittens from trees? Or perhaps kill rats that get into the pantry? What the hell are the cats doing if not catching rats like they are trained to do? I am a paladin in training but have had no way to prove myself except in the classroom or training field. I have yet to prove myself in a way that has any sort of meaning."

"And how does moping in bed do you any good?" Asked Gorion.

"I'm _not _moping! That's my point. You and the priests are keeping me in bed against my will. Do you really think that if I had my way that I would just be lying in bed brooding?"

"Truth be known I don't know what you _would _do if left to your own devices and that worries me. I don't want you to get hurt."

"Please, I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself Dad."

"Oh yes indeed, that is obvious, given our present circumstances." Responded Gorion, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Yeah, yeah, alright Dad. Now, did you have anything to say to me or did you just come here to bother me."

"Now Caradoc, speak to your father with a little more respect than that." Said Gorion in a warning tone. "But yes, I do have something to speak to you of and it involves your training as a paladin."

At this, Caradoc's interest was piqued and he quickly sat up in bed, ignoring his lingering pain.

"Well, for one thing, you will no longer receive your training at court."

"What?" Exclaimed Caradoc looking devastated.

"Don't worry, it has nothing to do with you or the little 'fiasco' you found yourself in. You see," he said, having taken on a conspiratorial tone leaning closer to his son who in turn leaned in with an excited look on his face.

"The king is old, there is no denying that. He fears that he will not live to see young Prince Cordero come of age in eight years time. He also fears that something will befall Caldaron and that he will die. It is no secret that he nearly died of his injuries he received during one of his excursions with the Order, excursions that he would be taking you on as an integral part of your training. Needless to say, King Alaric is concerned for Prince Caldaron's well-being and that of the kingdom, lest he should become unable to rule and leave it to a young child. Therefore, the king has resorted to placing Caldaron under nothing less that house arrest to ensure his safety which will last either to Alaric's death or Cordero's majority, whichever comes first."

"He can do that?" Asked Caradoc.

"Of course he can, he is the king and indeed it is his duty to do whatever is in the best interest of ensuring the continuance of his dynasty. This means, however, that Prince Caldaron will no longer be able to see to his duties of training you. We do however; have a back-up plan."

"Which is…?" asked Caradoc, prodding his father to continue.

"You are to finish your apprenticeship under the tutelage of High-Paladin Wessalen, Prelate of the Order." He couldn't help but laugh as he saw his son's face light up with awe and excitement at that news.

"Yes, it is quite an honor indeed.

"When shall I be leaving father." Asked Caradoc.

"Soon, but I'm afraid there is something we will have to see to first before that. You see, I came to see if you wished to test your mettle with me and a group of my associates on a very important and highly secret mission. Needles to say, I was quite surprised to see that you had disappeared only to arrive covered in blood and nearly unconscious."

"Top secret eh?" asked Caradoc skeptically. "Then why come to me?"

"Hush boy, I will give you an explanation if you will give me a chance, now will you listen?"

Caradoc still seemed incredulous but allowed his father to continue.

"You have heard of the Forest of Mir of course, which cover the southern highlands of this country, even bigger than the Great Forest that you explored not too long ago, and lead to the Marching Mountains where the giants reside. This place is also extremely dangerous for its cults which are the reason for the expedition. You see, the women that make up one such cult, are preparing to do something most heinous, they are planning to conduct a ritual, which the Harpers are watching closely, lest they should carry it out before we are ready with our force to stop it."

"What does the ritual entail?" asked Caradoc, now on the edge of his seat.

"They intend to sacrifice their own children at the behest of their god; some of the children are no older than babes. I know little more than that and even less that I am prepared to share with you."

At this point, Caradoc had risen from his bed and was over at the wall, polishing his great sword that had been a gift from Prince Caldaron that Caradoc had resting upon a chair, his actions full of purpose, his face livid with rage at the mere thought of what his father had just said.

"What sort of evil deity would demand something so heinous from his followers?"

"That is of little concern for you, what matters is stopping the sacrifices. And Cary, you have to promise me something before I allow you to come along."

"Of course father, I shall fight most valiantly beside you, cutting down anyone who dares to hurt those children." Growled Caradoc, his eyes dark, his knuckles turning white from clutching at the hilt of the sword.

"That is all well and good Caradoc, but that is not what you need to promise me. You need to promise me that you will follow what commands I give you to the letter."

"Of course father, you say the word and I shall fight beside you with all my strength."

"_And,_" Gorion continued, "should the battle turn south for us and I tell you to run, you run, if I tell you to leave me behind and flee the battle, you do that."

"WHAT?" Exclaimed Caradoc. "Dad, I can't do that, I would never be able to live with myself if I abandoned you in battle or abandoned those children."

"And I could not bear to lose you, I almost did once, I will not take that chance again, I will not let you come along unless you are capable of taking orders, as you will have to when you are in the Order. You have to promise me that you will do as I ask." He said, his eyes looking into his sons sky blue ones.

"I promise." Caradoc responded, in a not-so-convincing fashion.

"Swear it, in the name of Helm." Insisted Gorion, knowing that his son would not go back on such a promise.

There was a brief moment of pause and then Caradoc said,

"In the name of Helm, the great protector god, I swear that I shall follow any and all orders you may give me in the course of the battle to come." As he finished, his face registered discomfort at the implication that came with the words that he had just said, but having sworn in the name of his patron god, there was no going back on that promise now.

"Very well." Said Gorion nodding his assent. "Are you sure that you are well enough to go Cary?"

"Of course Dad. I've been ready to get out of bed for days now, I was born ready, hell, I was _conceived _ready!" he exclaimed.

"Very well, we will be off as soon as possible, grab whatever you will need for the journey and battle, we shall return to pick up the rest of your possessions on our return trip to Candlekeep, you may make your goodbye's then." Gorion prayed inwardly that he was making the right decision.

22 Eleint 1349 -The Forest of Mir in the south of Tethyr 40th year of the reign of King Alaric of Tethyr

Caradoc looked around, his eyes adjusting to the eerie darkness, his hand clutching his short sword tight, while his other arm bore a shield of strong, studded leather, which he held closely to his chest. Other than some light leather armor, he was defenseless. Even surrounded by his father and the other men, he felt vulnerable. However, Gorion had refused to let him bring his suit of heavy iron plate, nor the four foot long great sword that he was fond of, insisting that this would be a mission of stealth and speed rather than brute force.

Glancing quickly at the other grave men around him, Caradoc remembered with relief how open they were to the idea of a youth of only thirteen being amongst their ranks. Indeed, when he had arrived with Gorion earlier that day, the men's only reaction at seeing a tall, beardless youth was to greet him as they would any of their comrades as well as introduce themselves which he did as well in return. Although, that was hardly needed as Caradoc, son of Gorion and ward of Prince Caldaron himself was hardly a mystery to them. Their unquestioning acceptance of him made him feel very grown up indeed, far beyond his years. He was ready to fight; all his muscles had been twitching at the mere thought of the coming battle.

Now the temple was in sight. Caradoc could see the strange ghastly creatures that were carved into the stone that were akin to gargoyles but far more ominous. They had traversed through both forest and swamp to make it this far, though the trip had been uneventful, indeed, the area around the temple seemed to be devoid of life other than the copious amount of trees. There was no sound of birds or croaking of frogs, nor even the buzzing of insects. The entire area just seemed, well, dead, the absolute and eerie silence was enough to make the hairs on Caradoc's arms and neck stand on edge. That and the fact that the forest completely blocked out any light from reaching the group making it as dark as night even though it had been only mid-afternoon when they had set out. Now it was evening and the temple was less than a hundred yards away, at the same time gloomy and yet possessing an almost effervescent, other-worldly glow seeming to emanate from the very stones themselves. It was hard to believe that anyone could live in such a place as this, especially women and small children. At the thought of the children, Caradoc tightened his grip on his sword and he felt the muscles in his jaw clench with anger, his heart began beating faster at the thought of killing anyone who would dare to hurt a child when he was there to stop it. His edginess and excitement wasn't missed by his father who placed a calming hand on his shoulder. Caradoc knew that his father thought him to be a youth with unbridled passions and energy which had to be reigned in if he was ever going to become a truly great paladin. As Caradoc looked up into his father's soft brown eyes, he swore to himself that he would make his father proud, that his father would know by the night's end that he had made the right decision in bringing him along.

Not for the first time did the question arise in Caradoc's mind of what sort of evil deity would demand such an action from his followers and what mothers, who were worthy of the title, would ever even consider following through with such a heinous act? Well, he reminded himself, it didn't really matter because they would pay for their trespass; he for one wouldn't let those evil women carry out whatever horrid ritual they meant accomplish by sacrificing their own children.

There they were, at the very entrance of the temple. He found the fact that there was no one in sight unsettling. Did the priestesses truly think that no one would catch wind of their plans and come to stop them? He found that highly unlikely and quickly scanned the area for anyone, any_thing_ he might have missed, those priestesses were less than vermin in his eyes, and they were as good as dead. However, he remembered Gorion saying that he had to reign in his energy and anger, he had to focus it, or it would be of use to no one, and Caradoc swore that he would remember that. He knew that to be the case. He was not a follower of Tempus, the chaotic war god, nor was he a wild, bald, and painted Rashemeni berserker from the country of Rashemen far to the east who relied on their unparalleled brute strength and uncontrollable, trance-like fury. No, knowing his own strength and anger he would never wish to be not in control of them, the thought was a bit unnerving to be perfectly honest. No, he was a paladin and they relied on their wits and strategy as well as their strength to achieve their ends. He would learn to do that, he had to.

Again, as they neared the great stone doors that led to the inner sanctum of the temple, Caradoc couldn't help but wonder why it was so quiet, deathly quiet in fact. Could it be possible that no one was here, that they had fled? No, that would have been impossible; the temple had been surrounded with sentries up at all hours of the night. Regardless of its origin, to Caradoc, the silence was highly disturbing, causing his apprehension to rise. Right as the group of warriors reached the doors however, they were bombarded by a strong sense of magical energy coming from beyond the doors. Doubtless, the priestesses within had utilized silencing spells to act as a sort of sound buffer to throw them off, to give them a false sense of security.

The doors were locked, but with Gorion holding out his hand and whispering an incantation, they could hear the locks make an almost indiscernible sound as they clicked open. Caradoc flexed his fingers and arms, readying himself for the imminent battle that would ensue as soon as the doors were opened. He quickly glanced around at the men surrounding him as they too took a moment to steel themselves. He could only make out their eyes that glowed in the dark, but he could see determination and severity writ large in them. He was glad to have them at his back, because he would not listen to Gorion's pleas to stay at the back of the group so that he would miss out on most of the battle. He had refused, had insisted upon standing by his father in the front ranks. To which, Gorion finally acquiesced, figuring that it would give him more peace of mind to have his son in his sights throughout the duration of the battle.

The moment before the doors were opened, Caradoc marveled at how little defenses the priestesses had put up. Did they really think themselves _that_ capable of facing anyone that would undoubtedly come to stop them, or did they think that their evil god would protect them in their endeavor? Then, he noticed the symbol that was carved into each door, it was a grinning human skull surrounded by a ring of drops of blood. It took Caradoc only a second to recognize the symbol; the dead god of murder, Bhaal. So whatever the priestesses were doing were in honor of a dead deity? Why? However, he didn't have long to ponder the situation as the doors opened with, in the all-encompassing darkness, what seemed like an unbearably loud creak that made Caradoc's blood run cold. And within the space of a few heartbeats, the doors were open wide and they caught their first glimpse of the inner sanctum.

Against his will, the arms on Caradoc's arms and neck rose on end in apprehension as he looked into the room that seemed to go on forever. It was lit by flickering torches revealing scores, if not _hundreds _of priestesses of every race Caradoc knew, including humans, graceful, slender elves, handsome half-elves, short, stocky dwarves, plum diminutive Halflings, hideous, green orcs, monstrous ogres and half-breeds, and even a few enormous giantesses and several he did not, and with them were an equal number of children ranging in age of about five or 6 years of age to tiny infants in swaddling clothes. Many of the infants were crying, while the older children were oddly quiet and serene given the situation. Caradoc swore quietly in amazement, though he surely wasn't the only one, as he heard the men behind him suck in a breath in surprise and his father softly groan and let lose a stream of curses at the site before them. They _surely _hadn't been expecting this; there were only about thirty of them against the countless priestesses.

After they had been standing there for what seemed like an eternity, like time had just stopped, one of the chief priestesses delineated as such by her proximity to the main altar in the middle of the room as well as her beautifully ornate robes, turned in their direction.

She was beautiful, that much Caradoc could see in the flickering light even though most of her features were hidden by shadows. The glow of her hazel eyes glowing almost golden in the torch light looked so familiar to him yet he couldn't place it, nor could he imagine how he could possibly know someone as evil as her. Pondering this, he did not see Gorion slump his shoulders, looking as deflated as an empty water skin, his energy seeming to have fled and his jaw open in shock, while his entire visage was one of misery.

Caradoc was drawn out of his musings as he heard a voice.

"Parley." Came a voice, flat, without emotion. It was Gorion.

"Parley? The mighty Gorion wishes to _parley _with _me_?" Asked the woman in an amused tone.

"What, good sir, could we _possibly _have to talk about? Yet, I will play your game, at least for now." She said, crossing her arms over her chest, her eyes glittering with amusement.

"Why?" Came Gorion's response.

"I should be asking you the same. Why. Why do you underestimate me so, Gorion of Candlekeep?"

"Murderers of your own children all for your evil god. How could I _possibly _predict how low you would sink?"

"'Murderers of children' you call us. _Children_, ha, what quaint terms you use. They, like us, have no purpose but to serve Bhaal, they are tools to that end. And what of the 'child' _you _bring into the fray, is he not the same, not a 'tool'?"

Caradoc looked at her with suspicion at her strange words which he knew were describing him as being the only youth on their side.

"No, he is my _son._" Gorion snarled, his eyes dark.

"It is but window dressings sir, of which at another time I may have wished to explore further, though I do not think this to be the appropriate time."

"Nor do I." Affirmed Gorion, then the baby that the priestess had attached to her back, caught his attention.

"That child is yours, isn't it?" He commented.

"Yes, this _t_oolmine, the _vessel_ that I have brought forth, but _child_? No, I do not think of it as such."

"You are a fool if you think we would even _think _about letting you get away with this." He said, preparing himself to fight, just as he heard what sounded like thunder rolling through the hills outside.

It was a calculated risk, as he was pretty sure that the women could not merely slay their children, but must do so at the bloody altar at which the high-priestess stood. That fact gave them at least a chance to stop some of it.

"Very well, everyone, let us dispatch this little inconvenience and continue undisturbed."

At that madness broke out. The mages that had come along cast a multitude of spells, some silencing some priestesses and others conjuring and summoning an array of monsters to bolster their numbers. Meanwhile, the warriors that comprised the group, Caradoc included, rushed forward to meet the enemy who came charging at them unleashing unearthly screams, casting all sorts of incantations.

Although the majority of the priestess went into the battle with children strapped to their backs, some of them had left their children at the far wall and Caradoc could see some of the older ones running away from the battle, some picking up the younger ones and running to the doors…doors…Caradoc had not remembered seeing any doors in the room besides the one that they had entered from. He was quickly brought out of his musings as the two groups clashed with clanging of sword and mace.

Then, he heard it again, the rolling of thunder, except, he realized, it wasn't thunder as a pack of horsemen upon black steeds charged in through the doors that the children had been fleeing to. The huge black horses, with large rolling eyes and sharp hooves that caused sparks to fly up from the stone floor seemed to be the fabled horsemen from hell. Caradoc felt for certain that was all was lost when one of the horsemen took off his helmet and an exuberant face topped with copper hair came into view. Prince Caldaron!

"I am here and at your disposal, my friends!" he called as he swung a sword down and decapitated one of the priestesses.

A cheer rose up from the small group and Caradoc could feel his own soul fill with joy at his mentor's fortuitous arrival. Now, he was glad that he had his short sword to fight with instead of the great sword that he favored, as he realized that the latter would have gone right through the priestesses as well as the children strapped to their backs. The short sword, however, was not long enough to do that, which allowed him to hack, slash, and stab at whatever priestess was in range.

Caradoc thrust his sword into the bosom of the first priestess that came into his reach, the incantation she had began to utter immediately silence by an inhuman scream of pain which could barely be heard amongst the surrounding chaos of battle. Caradoc twisted his sword slightly before he harshly wrenched it from the priestess's body, hardly paying her any mind as she fell to the ground dead. Caradoc quickly ducked to dodge the mace a priestess had swung at him, the priestess barely missing him by an inch. Caradoc struck out with his short sword, the priestess quickly moving to block Caradoc's assault. This dance continued until Caradoc was struck from the side by yet another of the countless priestesses, fortunately for Caradoc the blow was a glancing one, but it was enough to knock him to the ground. The priestess lifted her mace and prepared to deliver a killing blow to Caradoc when he lunged forward striking the priestess in the chest. Caradoc dragged the blade diagonally upwards until it exited the priestess's body by her shoulder. Caradoc then turned his attention to the priestess that had attacked him earlier; only to see that she had been dispatched by another warrior.

Caradoc's next opponent was a giantess priestess. The priestess came at him surprisingly quick for someone of her size. Caradoc immediately brought his blade up to block the blow; however the force of the blow was still great enough to knock him to the ground. Caradoc rolled out of the way to dodge her next attack, however he wasn't quick enough to dodge the blow completely, he priestess managing to graze his left arm. While the priestess readied for another attack Caradoc quickly jumped to his feet, knowing that lying on the ground he was a sitting duck. Caradoc dodged the priestess's next blow before quickly rushing forward, swinging his blade quickly at the Priestess's side while she had been preparing for another assault. The priestess shouted in pain before she swung out striking Caradoc in the side with enough force to knock the wind out of his lungs. Caradoc shouted in pain as he felt at least one of his ribs snap on contact with the priestess's mace.

The priestess quickly moved over the injured Paladin ready to finish him off, when she suddenly screamed in pain as the head of an acid arrow was seen protruding from her neck and Caradoc looked on in horror as the magical acid made short work of her neck and head and she dropped to the ground, her scream still hanging in the air. Caradoc starred at her in shock for a moment before his father ran to him from behind the fallen priestess, one arm out stretched from casting the spell, while the other was cradling a baby.

"Caradoc, take this child and run." Gorion said.

"But Father." Caradoc said in protest, not wanting to flee the battle.

"I told you to run Cary, now go." Gorion said.

Caradoc nodded before he took the crying babe from his father and fleeing the battle as quickly as he legs could carry him.

With the baby securely nestled in his left arm, he adjusted his shield so that it was blocking the baby from harm, while his right arm was at the ready, short sword in hand, for any that would block his path. As luck would have it, the path back was mostly clear except for the bodies of fallen soldiers and priestesses that littered the way. There were two priestesses however that blocked his way, each that he dispatched quickly. One was a dwarf that charged at him with a barbaric growl which he silenced as he slashed his sword through the side of her neck, nearly decapitating her in one slice, blood spraying from the neck as its head fell to the side as if on a hinge as she slumped lifeless to the ground. Next was a halfling who was the only thing blocking his way to freedom. She had taken a defensive stance at the doors. She conjured two skeletal warriors to fight beside her who instantly began firing arrows at Caradoc, which he ignored, running through the rain of arrows, to get to the priestess herself, not even noticing when a couple managed to graze his sword arm or narrowly miss his neck, so close that he could feel a rush of air as they whizzed past. The diminutive priestess was already beginning a third incantation which died on her lips as Caradoc thrust his sword straight into her throat with all of his might, first feeling it catch on bone which soon gave way to soft muscle and tissue. He gave the sword a sharp twist at which he saw the priestess's eyes glaze over while her mouth still trying to produce the incantation, instead, brought forth a great gob of blood which burst, staining her lips red, before finally slumping to the ground. With the priestess dead, the skeletal warriors collapsed to the ground lifeless as well. Caradoc went to wrench the sword from the fallen woman's throat. Finding it stuck, he placed one foot on her chest and finally wrenched the sword free, blood gushing from the wound as water from a fountain.

Now, the great, arching doorway was completely empty and he ran as fast as he could, over the cobblestone floor, until he felt a cold breeze wash over him as he reached the open court, he did not stop however, until he was many yards away from the temple, out in the eerie forest.

With his free hand he clutched his knee, catching his breath, his heart pounding in his chest. Then, he looked at the infant that was nestled protectively in his arm. To his amazement, it was asleep. He could feel the baby's tiny body rise and fall in a calm, steady rhythm, indicating that it was so. He quickly glanced over the infant, making sure that it had made it through the battle unscathed. Indeed, as far as he could tell, it had. However, he did feel a twinge of pain in that arm, the same one that was still holding his shield. He soon found the cause of his discomfort. Some of the arrows that the skeletal archers had shot at him embedded themselves deep into the shield, some of them going through the shield and poking painfully into his arm.

He looked in amazement at the baby who had somehow managed to fall asleep on their flight from the temple. Being careful so as not to awaken the infant, he unstrapped the shield and tossed it on the ground, but didn't dare to release the sword from his grasp should more priestesses or any sort of creature come and find him unarmed. Then, he went about trying to control the erratic beating of his heart, taking in deep breaths, wincing in pain as he did so, remembering only then his broken ribs.

Finding a tree nearby, he rested his back against it while keeping an eye out for any danger. Soon he heard footsteps coming towards him. It was late and the forest was even darker than it had been before. He clutched the sleeping child close to him and clutching his sword tight in his fist, prepared for a fight. The footsteps came closer and closer and then a familiar voice called out,

"Cary! Is that you?"

Dropping his arm down in relief, he responded "Yes Dad!"

A moment later, Gorion came into view, carrying a lit torch; Caradoc could see blood splattered upon his face and his face grave though it lit up at seeing his son.

"Are you alright Dad?" Caradoc asked worriedly.

"Oh, don't worry about me boy, just a few cuts, most of this blood," he said, motioning to his face, "isn't mine."

"Oh." Said Caradoc.

"I should ask you the same. You took quite a hit back there; I think you might have broken some ribs in the battle."

"Geez, I'm fine Dad. "How did the battle go?"

"It was a fiasco, Cary. We were far outnumbered. We stood no chance against such numbers. It would have been easy enough to kill them all with magic, but such magic would have killed the children as well, risks we weren't willing to take. Eventually we all decided that we would pick up what children we could and flee for our lives. It was the only thing we could do."

"What? But What about Prince Caldaron?" Caradoc asked, shocked that his mentor could ever lose a battle

"Yes, well, his arrival was very fortuitous and helped with morale, but soon after you left his horse had been killed from under him and he had to resort to fighting on foot. As I was leaving he had mounted another one but it was clear that they too were going to retreat and were just going to try and save which children they could."

"Why didn't _you_ pick up a child?" Caradoc asked out of curiosity and not accusingly.

"I was too busy making sure no one would follow you as you fled with the baby."

"Oh.

"Anyway, we're safe here. The priestesses seem content to merely hold their ground rather than give chase after us.

"But Dad, how did we lose? They're evil! We, the forces of goodness should have been able to defeat them!" Caradoc said confused.

"Yes Caradoc, I know. However, they were somehow sneaking into the temple in some other way that we did not see. Perhaps they used tunnels miles away or perhaps teleported through magical means. I know not. But there is nothing else we can do, barring killing everyone in there, including the children. It's not something we were willing to do."

"I understand." Caradoc said, still shocked.

"Seriously now Cary, you got hurt back there, probably some broken ribs, let me have a look.

"Yeah," Caradoc said wincing, "I think so." He lifted up his shirt a little ways to check and he could already see a large bruise developing where he had been hit.

"We'll get you patched up in a second. How is the little one?" Gorion asked, looking over at the baby, who had woken at the sound of their conversation. The baby was looking at him with wary, golden eyes, wriggling itself closer to Caradoc for protection.

"Ha! I think the baby likes you Cary." Gorion smiled.

"Well, it fell asleep as we were fleeing the temple; I guess it felt safe with me." He said, looking down at the baby, stroking its fair, soft hair, looking at its eyes which seemed to glow golden in the torch light. Then, it started to get fussy, though didn't cry and started opening and closing its mouth sort of like a fish out of water. This worried the youth and he held the baby out toward his father, his hands gently holding the baby by its upper torso, his thumbs supporting its head.

"Dad, I think it's broken." Said Caradoc worriedly.

"First of all, Cary, it's a she, _not _an _it_. And what do you mean 'she's broken'." Asked Gorion confusedly.

"Well Dad, just look at her! She's doing weird things!"

Gorion couldn't help but laugh at his son's confusion at the actions of the small child that he was holding.

"She's not 'broken' as you so eloquently put it, Cary, she's hungry!"

"What?"

"She's hungry. We should probably feed her."

"Feed her? How?"

"Here, place her back in one arm and then dip your finger in this." Said Gorion holding out his water skin."

Caradoc gave a strange look at his father but did as he asked.

"Ok, now what?"

"Now, place your finger in her mouth."

"Excuse me?"

"Yes, place your finger in her mouth. I remember that I use to do that for you before I found you a nurse." Gorion caught himself only afterwards. The topic of Caradoc's mother was always a sort of taboo.

Luckily, for the moment, Caradoc let the comment go, seemingly unnoticed as he slowly moved his index finger, dripping with water slowly towards the baby's mouth. He didn't even have to place his finger in her mouth at all, as she lifted her head and took it in her mouth sucking at it.

The process was repeated several more times during which, Caradoc looked up at Gorion and said,

"Why don't you ever talk about my mother? I don't even know her name or what happened to her…I killed her though, didn't I?" he asked sadly.

Gorion remained quiet. It was a difficult thing to think upon, but not for the reason his son suspected. Caradoc took his father's silence for an affirmative answer, and he bowed his head in sadness.

"You look like her you know." Gorion said quietly a little while later.

"I do?"

"Yeah, your blond hair in particular." Gorion responded before going silent again.

"Do I get my eyes from her too Dad?" Caradoc asked, trying to meet his father's rich, brown, downcast eyes.

"No. Her's were green in color." Gorion said.

"Why do we never talk about her father?" Caradoc asked; hurt finding its way into his voice.

"It's not the right time, Cary." Gorion said quietly.

"Will it ever be the right time?"

"No, perhaps not." Gorion admitted.

"I heard that priestess tonight." Caradoc said, noticing his father's face grow pale with the mentioning, "She was talking about me, I know that. She called me a 'tool', what was that about father?"

"Nothing Cary," said Gorion wearily. "Nothing but the ravings of a mad woman."

Caradoc stared straight into his father's eyes and yet could read nothing from their depths but pain. He did not want to cause him yet further pain, and so, with a sigh, he let the matter drop.

The little baby had finished and seemed content. Caradoc tried to bring the conversation in a new direction.

"What are we going to do with her Dad?"

"We'll be taking her back home with us, of course." Gorion replied.

"Won't the sages be angered by that?"

"Ha! As if they have a choice, I am their greatest patron; do you think they would deny me that request? How could you say no to such a cute little face?" he asked smiling.

"No, I suppose not." Caradoc agreed looking down at the baby.

"She seemed to like the water." Caradoc said, at that instant feeling his own stomach growling with hunger. "If you thought _that_ was good little one, just wait 'til you are old enough to try one of Alianna's mince pies!" He said, almost drooling at the thought of those delicacies that Gorion's 'friend', who Caradoc thought might soon become his bride, would make whenever he was home at Candlekeep.

"They are some of the best anywhere! Do you think she'll have any ready when we get back Dad?" He asked with his boyish exuberance.

If it were possible, it seemed that Gorion's face became more pale and pained than before, the blood splatter on his face standing in stark contrast to his ghostly complexion, obvious even in the dim light.

"No, she won't be there." Gorion said softly.

"What? How do you know?"

"She's been gone for months, Cary, almost a year, if I'm not mistaken." He tried to keep his voice a dead calm, but it began to tremble against his will.

"What? How can that be? I thought you were going to marry her! Why didn't you tell me?" The last part he did not say accusingly, just in shock as he had been away from home for a long time and was amazed at what had happened and that he was not told.

"I didn't want to upset you. There was nothing you could have done about it anyway."

"Perhaps she will return, she used to leave sometimes for a variety of reasons, there's no reason to suspect that she's gone for good." Caradoc said, trying to instill some small bit of hope into his father.

Seeing what Caradoc was trying to do, Gorion felt grateful, but wanted to break down and tell him the entire truth right then and there. How could he have been so ignorant, so blind, so wrong about her? She had been so beautiful with her long luxurious red hair and eyes, ever fluctuation between golden, green, brown, and hazel. She had been clever as well and loving and so kind to his son and now, she was gone. But he had to put on a brave front before Caradoc. There would be time enough later to breakdown and cry, but that time was not now.

"She won't be coming back." He said firmly so as not to allow any argument.

"How do you know that father?"

"I just do, beyond a shadow of a doubt. She is dead and never coming back."

"Dead? Shouldn't we bury her then? Where is she?"

Gorion felt his throat constrict, tears, tears of anger and misery filling his eyes.

"No, that would be impossible. Please, do not press me further, not now, let's just get you patched up and get back home. We'll take the long way so that Prince Caldaron can get there first, explain things to his father the king. He'll have a lot to answer for when he returns to court, his father will have noticed his absence long before now and he is going to be sick with fear and livid that Caldaron would go against his express command as blatantly as he did, no, it will not be a pleasant home coming at all."

A/N: So that is chapter 4…hope you enjoyed it! Thank you for reading! I apologize for any grammar mistakes or anything. I cut and pasted some lines around to change the order of some conversations. Hopefully that went ok. Chapter 5 will be up by Friday! Please come back and take a look if you like what I've done so far! Thanks


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I don't own Baldur's Gate or anything associated with it.

Chapter 5: 26 Eleint 1349 -The Royal Courts of Tethyr 40th year of the reign of King Alaric of Tethyr

Riding his horse calmly through the gates of the royal Tethyrian courts on a bright sunny day, he was amazed at how excited everyone was. Indeed, they were in a state of celebration! Banners and streamers were hanging from windows and everyone was in their finest. Even when he had been a far distance away, this lone rider had heard the dim roar of a crowd coming from the vast courtyards. Now he could tell that it was due to a jousting tournament being held.

Even in the safety of the walls, he kept his helmet on, preferring to keep a certain amount of anonymity until he could meet with the king privately. Though, by the looks of it, that would be close to impossible, the whole court was in a state of celebration, for what purpose, he was not sure.

He was soon set upon by several people hawking their wares, skins of wine, hot pies, trinkets and various others, which he shooed away as politely as possible. Scanning the courtyard and adjoining tiltyard, he could find no sight of the king. Trotting over to the tiltyard, he saw that many of the nobles and court officials were there watching the proceedings. Glancing at the royal box, he saw only the ten year old Prince Cordero, pointing out something that had caught his interest down upon the field excitedly to one of his tutors standing dutifully behind him. King Alaric, however, was nowhere in sight.

"Noble sir! Do you wish to partake in today's tournament?" A man asked.

"Wait, what? Good, sir, tell me," the rider said, looking down at the man, "what is the cause of all this merriment? Where is King Alaric?"

"Did you not know good sir?" the man called out so that everyone nearby could hear. "Our great prince Caldaron had gone missing, seemingly spirited away from within the castle walls!" he exclaimed excitedly. "His royal majesty Alaric was sick with worry over his son's safety and apoplectic with rage that his orders were so willfully disregarded! However, our scouts have sent word that Prince Caldaron was seen emerging from the Forest of Mir not two days ago! He is coming home unscathed, most likely after participating in some grand adventure which is his wont!" at that, everyone nearby cheered. "Overjoyed that his son is safe and on his way home, the king has set up these festivities with which to welcome home his prodigal son!"

The rider was quiet impressed. Then, the man leaned in and lowered his voice so that only he could hear, "As to the whereabouts of the king, your father, your majesty, I could not say, though my guess would be seeing to the festivities elsewhere among the grounds." He said giving the rider a wink when he could see, even through the visor of the helmet that the rider was surprised at having been identified and then, it suddenly hit him,

"Aldonius?" he whispered. He almost hadn't recognized him, his color was ruddy and vibrant and his countenance exuberant, in stark contrast to the terrified, pale faced man that he had been the last time they had met only a couple short weeks ago.

"Indeed, your majesty." He said smiling. "I ask you again, however, if you wish to partake in the tournament. You have always been an excellent sportsman and at present, we have a dark horse who has proven to be unbeatable, he has absolutely dominated everyone he has faced as of yet and there are few left who will dare compete against him. I think that were you to face him as yet another nameless competitor, it would be quite a show, for you to reveal your identity to the crowds as the winner, could you imagine that?"

Aldonius was still whispering, though his voice now with an excitement and urgency that Caldaron could not ignore. It seemed harmless enough and paladin or no; he knew he needed the ego boost after the fiasco that had occurred within the forest mere days ago. Who knows, perhaps his father would make an appearance; such a victory would make him proud and help mend the division that had grown between them.

"Very well sir!" Caldaron exclaimed loud enough for the crowd to hear, "I accept your challenge and will face this 'unbeatable' dark horse!" At that he reared his horse up and rode at a full gallop towards the tiltyard amid thunderous applause.

Minutes later, Prince Caldaron was in the tiltyard, staring down the track at the mystery rider who would be opposing him. Surprisingly, the man's armor was of an old style, one that had been popular over thirty years ago when his father was a youth.

Still incognito to everyone except Lord Tombelthen, who was serving him as herald who moments ago announced the mysterious rider, he settled himself on the saddle, set his feet securely in the stirrups and took the proffered lance in his mailed hand, drumming his fingers in excitement.

Raising his lance in the customary salute to his opponent at the other end of the field, which the other man did as well, then, seeing the man in charge of the joust lower the flag that was emblazoned with the Tethyrian coat of arms, he took a deep breath and spurred his horse into a gallop straight towards his opponent. The gathered, cheering crowd was merely a blur of color in his peripheral vision; his focus was completely focused upon the rider coming full speed towards him. The distance between them diminished to the point that only a few yards separated them, they both lowered their lances, Caldaron aimed straight for his opponent's chest, the surest place for a good, solid hit. Then, they met with a crash, his opponent's aim had been impeccable, hitting Caldaron's upper arm, right where his arm met his shoulder causing the whole length of his arm to go absolutely numb before surging with a hot pain. Due to his opponent's excellent hit, his own had been knocked off course resulting only in an ineffective glancing blow, his lance remaining unbroken. He burned with disappointment as he saw his opponent pump his shattered lance in the air to thunderous applause before they both returned to their starting points for the next round.

"Don't worry sir, t'was merely a lucky hit." Aldonius said, while pouring some water into Caldaron's mouth.

"No," Caldaron gasped, sweat dripping down his face, "It is like you said, he is very good, it was a perfect hit." He said wincing as Lord Tombelthen wrenched a large shard of wood that had imbedded itself in his arm.

"Well, perfect form or no, he's not the crown prince, now is he?" Tombelthen whispered in return, "Go get him, this is far from over!" he said, boasting the last part out loudly, giving the horse a good thwack on the rump, making it startle for a moment.

"Ah, good old Aldonius, you always know what to say!" Caldaron grinned, "Give me a lance good sir!" he said in a deep, knightly, theatrical voice, taking the lance held out before preparing himself for the next bout.

Again they saluted, and again the two riders thundered towards each other with remarkable speed. Caldaron leaned forward slightly as they came closer, leveling his lance, yet again, for the sure chest hit. And then, in an instant, they hit. He could feel his lance go straight and true, shattering against his opponent's chest.

Yet again, however, the mystery horseman had bested him. Just at the instant that he felt his lance touch armor, his opponent's lance smashed straight into the visor of his helmet, bashing it inwards. He instantly felt his nose break in at least two places, blood gushing forth uninhibited, his vision almost completely obscured due to his battered helmet and the tears that filled up his eyes unbidden. It was all he could do to cling to his horse with his legs in a desperate effort to stay on after his entire upper torso whipped back from the impact.

If Caldaron could have sensed anything beyond his obliterated helmet, he would have heard the crowd's awe-filled gasp at the hit and the cheers that went up as he stayed on his horse and did not seem to be too seriously injured. He would have seen that his opponent did not revel in his feat, but rather anxiously look in his direction to see if he was ok, worry writ large in his eyes. He would have heard Lord Tombelthen run over to him in a panic, pleading for him to be not too greatly injured.

He sensed none of this however. His vision was almost non-existent with his eyes awash with tears, his head spinning and helmet's visor crushed beyond repair as a result of the impact. He could hear nothing but the ringing in his ears; feel nothing but the pain in his nose, which was replaced by an acute sense of claustrophobia due to the metal mess that was once a helmet that was now stuck on his head, which in turn was replaced by an uncharacteristic anger. Anger at the thought that what was to be his glorious return, a moment of redemption, reconciliation with his father was to be thwarted by this…this…_nobody_. Sure, he was an excellent opponent with some of the best skills he had ever seen, but he was not the crown prince, he, Caldaron had honed his skills in countless tournaments, had been taught by the finest of tutors in all of Tethyr and indeed, all of Faerun, was counted among the greatest of Torm's paladins within the distinguished Most Noble Order of the Radiant Heart, how could he let this man best him, on this day of all days, the day to celebrate his "glorious return". He knew even as such feelings came over him that they were out of bounds, pride, anger, they were not emotions a paladin should suffer himself to feel.

At the realization of this, he was overcome with a great sense of determination to not only finish the joust, but to win, the score stood at 3-1, he was trailing and he knew the only way to win was to unhorse his opponent, which was easier said than done due to the considerable skill his challenger had exhibited thus far.

With his senses returning to him, carefully, and with the help of Lord Tombelthen, he rode his horse to his end of the field for the final bout, looking out the small portion of the visor that was still functioning. Seeing that he was going to finish the joust the crowd let out a cheer. This joust had been thrilling so far, they couldn't wait to see how it ended.

"My Prince," Aldonius whispered "Are you sure you wish to continue?" knowing even as he said it that it was pointless to even ask.

"Why not? I am not badly injured, it would be shameful not to."

"My lord, you can barely see!"

"I can see well enough, I shall be going straight ahead and there are a few holes in the visor that are giving me some small amount of visibility. Who in the name of the gods _is _this man, he is excellent! I hate to admit it, but he just might be better than I am." Caldaron responded with a small amount of chagrin creeping into his voice.

"Is there anything you need sir?"

"No, just make sure my horse is headed in the right direction and I might need a blacksmith to get this metal contraption off my head…I think it might be stuck, but other than that? Nothing."

"Very well sir, good luck."

For the third and final time, they saluted, except this time his opponent brought his mailed fist, placed it over his chest and bowed his head, a sign of great respect that caught Caldaron off guard, but one that he gave in return. Win or lose, the man had been a worthy opponent and he looked forward to meeting him face to face. Then the flag was lowered and the round commenced. Caldaron spurred his horse into as strong a gallop as it could muster the world outside his helmet a blur. He kept his eyes straight on his opponent, quickly deciding how he was to strike. Finally, he took aim at his opponent's stomach right above the mount's head. It would be a hard spot to hit, but if he did, it would be easy to send the other man flying off his horse. If his aim were off, it would still allow for a strong hit to the chest, therefore, he had decided on his course of action.

He clenched his lance, lowered it and took aim. Then, he felt his horse stumble. It was nothing that the crowd could be able to see from their vantage point, but he could feel it, especially with his arm as sore as it was, it was all he could do to tighten his grip and try and keep on target, even so, it was moving up the torso towards the upper portion of the other rider's chest. Before he could adjust it, the two clashed with the crashing of splintering wood of the lances. He felt a searing pain envelop his already weakened arm as it was hit hard by his opponent's lance, causing a bone in his upper arm near his shoulder to break with an audible snap. Caldaron clenched his teeth and tried to keep his aim true, however, his whole upper torso was flung back from the impact and his aim went up yet further, his lance going up at an almost 90 degree angle, catching the other rider under the chin and snapping his head back from the immense force that Caldaron put behind it, the lance shattered and as Caldaron regained his bearings, he and the rest of the spectators watched eagerly to see if the other knight would be able to stay on his horse, if he did, the victory would be his…

After the knight had withstood the initial impact and remained mounted on his horse, the whole arena erupted into cheers at the man's victory. Yet hardly a moment after the victory being announced, Caldaron and the crowd slowly realized something was horribly wrong. As Caldaron cantered over to meet his worthy opponent, the man slumped forward onto his horse, his head at a curious angle. Caldaron quickly spurred his horse to a gallop to the injured knight, but just as he was about to reach him, the man collapsed limply from the horse and landed hard onto the ground. The young prince Cordero looking on from the royal viewing box let out a shout of horror at the sight, which resonated throughout the crowd as the knight did not rise. Several other warriors were running to the fallen knight, but Caldaron reached him first, leaping down from his horse, rushing straight towards him even with the limited visibility allowed by his helmet. He feared the worst. Kneeling next to the man, he gently placed an arm around the back of the fallen man's neck and head, trying to support it, shuddering at the way the man's head went back at an impossible angle.

"Sir Knight, can you hear me? Please sir, give some indication." Caldaron said, his throat tightening at the sight of his fallen opponent, he knew the man was dead; his neck having been snapped from the impact from the lance. Death would have probably been instantaneous. Slowly, he raised the fallen knight's visor and immediately emitted a strangled cry of grief at seeing the dead visage of his father…the king.

"No…no…please father…" he begged softly, immense shock keeping tears from reaching his eyes as he clutched the body close to his chest…it all came flooding back to him, the antiquated armor, the amazing skill, the respect shown, the fact that no one had been able to tell him where the king was, it was all so obvious now. He was so lost in his shock rocking the dead body of his father back and forth that he didn't notice the crowd of guards as well as his little brother Cordero right behind him until he heard a sob ring out, "Dad!" Cordero shrieked at the sight of seeing the dead king. The men around Caldaron drew their swords and he could feel them against his armor, a couple against the back of his neck. He slowly put the king's body down, gently closing his eyes with his hand, and closing the visor.

He gave no resistance as the two guards nearest him roughly dragged him to his feet, gritting his teeth in pain as his arms were wrenched behind his back, with no heed being paid to the fact that one of them was broken. The pain cleared his mind and for the first time, he comprehended what was going on around him. He could hear his little brother's disconsolate weeping and the crowd calling for vengeance for their fallen king, demanding his blood, a command which the guards seemed more than eager to satisfy. Caldaron was about to think upon what to do, when a deep, commanding voice sounded throughout the field.

"Unhand the king!"

For a moment all was silent as everyone turned in the direction of the voice. There, a mere few yards away, stood Lord Tombelthen, standing at his full height, giving the guards a look that did not allow for any argument. Caldaron was amazed at how commanding a presence the young man had and he could sense the two guards restraining him looking at each other, wondering what to do, and he could feel their grasps on him loosen, but they did not let go.

"I say again, in the name of Torm, unhand Caldaron, your rightful king!"

Those in the crowd began murmuring and soon took up the call themselves, demanding their king be given more respect than being forcibly restrained.

"And who might you be sir?" One of the nobles asked, a man Caldaron could recognize just by his voice, haughty and yet unctuous at the same, it was Lord Nyoka Karan, one of the late king's advisors, a man of questionable morals and a silver tongue, a man who had been kept on a short leash by Alaric. But he was a popular man amongst the nobles nevertheless; especially those who shared his view that Tethyr by rights become more powerful, powerful enough to rival Amn which shared their northern border. Caldaron absolutely hated him.

"You should know who I am Lord Karan, I am Lord Tombelthen, the herald to his late majesty Alaric."

"Oh, I'm sorry young man, I do not deal with commoners." He responded.

Tombelthen was unfazed by the insult.

"At any rate sir, I demand that the king be unhanded immediately."

"How do you know it is him sir when none of the rest of us do?" Lord Karan asked.

"He was the only one to have no idea why these celebrations were being held, his timing exactly coinciding with the time that the scouts had predicted that the prince would return, and besides, I recognized his voice."

"Then why does he not speak for himself?" Nyoka turned towards Caldaron and tilting his head looked at him and said, "Well sir knight? This herald claims that you are Prince Caldaron and with this unfortunate business involving the death of your father the king, that you are our rightful king. What say you?"

"I am as the herald says." Caldaron responded, his voice muffled and distorted by his helmet and broken nose.

"You sound not like our prince, why do you not reveal yourself to us, show us your face so that we can be sure." Nyoka said, obviously trying to be difficult which angered Caldaron.

"Perhaps, Lord Karan, you may have noticed that my helmet was badly damaged during one of the bouts. If you would be so kind as to fetch a blacksmith to help pry it off my head, I would be more than willing to comply with your request." Caldaron responded, trying, with no small amount of effort to keep any amount of annoyance or sarcasm out of his voice. He would be playing right into the man's hands if he made any indication of how much he vexed him.

A few minutes later, a large heavily muscled man came forward with a pair of pliers; Caldaron prayed that the man was actually a blacksmith who had a clue in hell of what he was doing, rather than just a nearby strong man. He was a bit nervous when he felt the pliers clamp onto his helmet and he closed his eyes against any stray pieces of metal that may fly off, yet he need not have been. In the blink of an eye, the man skillfully pried the helmet off of Caldaron's head, and Caldaron could hear it snap off with a loud popping sound. And the man stepped back, his work being done.

Immediately, a collective gasp sounded from the crowd, which confused him until he remembered that he must look horrible due to his injuries he had received during the joust. Indeed, it was no surprise at the people's shock, for even Lords Tombelthen and Karan seemed concerned at the sight. It was quite a sight, his nose askew, blood still pouring out, his whole face bruised and swollen, and his eyes puffy and blackened. Yet, despite his injuries he was still recognizable as their prince, for whom they had been holding the day's celebrations, most notably due to his copper red hair that caught the light of the late afternoon sun.

He squinted against the sudden brightness and took a gasp of breath, enjoying that he could now breathe freely and unconstrained by his ruined helmet. When his eyes finally adjusted to the light and he wiped away the sweat that was dripping into his eyes, the first thing he saw was a sight that broke his heart.

"Cal?" his little brother asked as he looked up at him, his large amethyst eyes showing the innocence and purity of his soul. He looked absolutely heartbroken and it killed Caldaron to know that he was the cause for his little brother's grief.

"Yes," he said, kneeling down in front of Cordero, "it is I, little one." And, to his surprise, the little boy covered the small distance between them and threw his arms around him, crying into his chest.

"There, there, little one, it is going to be ok." Caldaron said soothingly, placing his arm around his little brother, holding him close to him, wishing he never had to let go. His words rang false even to his own ears.

While they embraced, someone said,

"The king is dead! Long live the king!"

Caldaron looked up; it was the blacksmith who had helped him. Upon saying this, he knelt on the ground in obeisance. The cry was soon taken up by the whole crowd until nearly all were on their knees, paying homage to their new king. All, that is, except Lord Karan, whom Lord Tombelthen forced to his knees, to which he growled darkly.

"Get your hands off me, peasant."

Then, he stood, without being bidden and spoke loudly saying,

"How strange that we should feel compelled to pay obeisance to this man who, if I remember correctly, _killed_ our great king Alaric, or have you fools all forgotten that already?"

Caldaron could see people fidgeting uncomfortably. Technically, the man spoke true. King Alaric _was_ dead and Caldaron had caused it…

The blacksmith had stood up, and Caldaron noticed that he was a giant of a man, standing over 6 and a half feet tall with impossibly wide shoulders and arms twice as large as those of a normal man. He was holding the pliers in a menacing manner, his eyes darkening with anger.

"How _dare_ you disrespect the king in such a way!" he said, taking a step towards the much smaller Lord Karan, who seemed not at all nervous at seeing the large and angry man come at him with what could be turned into a lethal weapon.

"Calm yourself, peasant." Nyoka said in a derisive tone. "You cannot deny that the death of our former king deserves some form of punishment upon the perpetrator."

Still kneeling, Lord Tombelthen spoke,

"My king, if I may be given permission to rise…" he said, and quickly, Caldaron acquiesced, bidding the whole assemblage to rise.

"Lord Karan! It is no secret that you want the throne for yourself. It was for this reason that King Alaric removed you from the council and passed ordinances that you would never ascend to the throne, despite your claim through your mother's side. To strip Prince Caldaron of his title would make the path to the throne all the more easy for you!"

"Most obviously," Lord Karan responded calmly, "the throne would pass to young Cordero here." He said, motioning to the young wide-eyed prince who was at the moment clinging to his elder brother, unsettled that the topic of conversation had turned to him.

"However, he _will _need a regent until he comes of age in eight years' time."

"And you think that _you _would hold that position?" Tombelthen interjected.

"Who better? He has no other family than his brother. But this is not about me; this is about what we should do with Caldaron." Lord Karan said, dropping Caldaron's title.

"It was an accident; we should let bygones be bygones. Besides, the correct course of action would be a trial at any rate."

"A trial?" Lord Karan laughed mirthlessly, "We are all witnesses of what has transpired, we need not a trial! Besides, never has here been a trial for a king in the entire history of Tethyr! Who would pass judgment upon him? I say he should be executed, he is a danger to this kingdom and is guilty of both regicide and patricide, both mortal sins in the eyes of the great Torm!"

"Over my dead body!" the blacksmith growled angrily, his eyes glistening murderously over his scruffy beard, as he started walking over menacingly to Lord Karan, with Lord Tombelthen trying, in vain to hold him back.

By this time, the whole crowd was in an uproar, hurling curses at Karan or fighting amongst themselves in the stands, seeming to have forgotten the subject of their arguments was standing right in their midst.

Caldaron looked down at his brother, putting on his strongest face for the wide eyed child that was looking up at him.

"Cal, what's going to become of us?" the boy whispered.

Caldaron couldn't get himself to speak; he had few options, none of which seemed even remotely palatable to him.

"I don't trust Uncle Nyoka." He continued, referring to Lord Karan. "I doubt I will be on the throne long."

That chilled Caldaron's heart. The boy spoke true. There was only one thing he could do that could give his brother a chance. He knelt down in front of his brother, looking him in the eye and then wrapping his arms around him in a hug, feeling his brother cling to him as a half-drowned man does to a plank of wood.

"I love you Cordero, and I'm sorry. Torm watch over you little brother."

Then, Caldaron slowly rose to his feet. Preparing himself to speak, he was glad that the crowd's focus was elsewhere as it allowed him time to compose himself and prepare himself to address them as their king. Finally feeling himself ready, he raised his hand to silence the crowd who all turned expectantly in his direction.

"Good people! If you will but give me a moment! I fully realize that my crimes, however unintentional they were, are nevertheless unforgivable in nature. Therefore, for the sake of peace within this kingdom, I shall abdicate the throne in favor of Prince Cordero who shall be guided by my father's trusted council. I shall leave this country and live my life in the service of Torm and pay everlasting penance for my misdeeds."

For a second, there was absolute silence but for the wind blowing through the banners and the chirping of birds. Then a voice spoke.

"You understand, sire, were you to leave, if you ever again crossed the border into Tethyr-"

"Yes Tombelthen, I know, there would be order's to have me killed on sight. I understand that. I wish nothing more than to repent for my sins and see my beloved kingdom prosper under the rule of my most beloved brother." He then turned to the crowd, " And I want all of you to promise me that you shall accept no king but Cordero and that you love and guide him, only then shall my heart find rest."

The crowd gave their heartfelt consent, many wiping away tears, and, following Caldaron's example, knelt and paid obeisance to their boy-king, all except Lord Karan.

"And how do you think that the nobles accept your course of action, your abdication in lieu of your execution?"

"And who would dare oppose my decision, Nyoka? My decision was made while I was king and can only now be revoked by the present king. If he demands my execution or if the council of nobles who shall rule in his place demand it, then so be it. Yet that decision is not yours to make."

None spoke, so Caldaron took that as assent to his actions. He then looked over at Lord Tombelthen and said,

"Look after him."

"Of course, my lord." He said quietly, striving not to shame himself by letting the tears that were fighting their way to his eyes fall. He couldn't help but think what would be happening right now had he not convinced Caldaron to joust this day…

"Thank you Aldonius." He responded quietly, a look on his face that told Tombelthen that he knew what he was thinking and held nothing against him. That is, if Lord Tombelthen had been able to look him in his gray eyes, but as it was, his gaze was securely upon his feet. Caldaron smiled sadly upon him before turning his gaze back upon his brother. Kneeling back down before his brother…the king.

"You shall be a great king Cordero and you shall make both father and me proud, Torm bless you young one." He said, looking into the wide amethyst eyes of the little boy before him who embraced him and he wrapped his arms around the small child in a protective embrace. Which he feared would be the last one.

"Be brave, my brother, be brave." Caldaron whispered.

"I shall be, I promise." Cordero said, his voice reflecting an inner strength that Caldaron had not known his brother to possess.

"I love you Cordero, and, I'm sorry."

"There is nothing to be sorry for Cal, and I love you too. Torm watch over you as well."

Finally, the two brothers parted and Caldaron looked about him, taking in his last sight of Tethyr, of his people, of his brother. There was a deathly quiet that enveloped the whole castle grounds. Then, there was a light hand upon his shoulder.

"My lord, if you wish it, it would be my honor to escort you to our northern border into Amn." Lord Tombelthen said quietly.

"I would like that sir."

Then, mounting his horse, he headed out, looking back at his brother until he became but a speck far in the distance.

A/N: Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed it! Sorry that this chapter took so long to post…college has been kicking my ass recently…As I already have chapter 6 written, I will try and get it up sometime this week. Please come back then if you enjoy this story!


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I do not own Baldur's Gate….still…I'll tell you all if I ever buy the rights ;)

Chapter 6: 30 Marpenoth 1353 -Day of Spirits -Candlekeep

All was calm and quiet this afternoon as befitted the famed fortress-library-monastery-town of Candlekeep. Few people lived there besides the studious monks that had been calling it home since it was founded by the prophet Alundo the Great long ago. However, the peaceful quiet was rudely interrupted by a shout of horror.

"GIBBERLING!" yelled a deep voice in fear. Indeed, it was a sight to behold as in the very courtyard within the walls of Candlekeep itself, a young man was face to face with a hideous creature that growled ferociously at him.

"Rarrrr!" said the fiend, little hands outstretched, fingers curled like claws. "Rarrrrrr!"

At that, the man could no longer hide the laughter from his voice as he continued to yell in obviously feigned fright as he picked up the little creature which, under closer examination, was easily determined to be a little girl about five years old with a gibberling mask on.

In one easy motion, the young man lifted her and she wrapped her little legs around his torso for support. Again, he let out a shout of feigned fear, mirth glistening in his eyes. Yet a small child does not understand play-acting and lifted her mask up and said,

"It's just me Cawadoc! You don't have to be afwaid!" her hazel eyes looking at him with concern.

"What?" he exclaimed, "Oh look, it _is _you Malori! Were you trying to scare poor old Caradoc?"

"Mmhmm!" she nodded. "But you were weeelly afwaid! I didn't want to scare you too much" she said a bit sadly, her lower lip jutting out and her eyes looking dolefully at him.

"Ah, don't worry munchkin, I'm ok!" he said hugging her.

"Cary? Is that you?" A beautiful young woman called out.

"Leighla!" Malori called out. Caradoc put her down and said whispered to her conspiratorially,

"Do you want to scare her?"

"Yeah!"

And at that, the little girl put her mask back on and ran at the young lady growling. At this, Leighla, let out a half shriek, half laugh, especially after the little child latched onto her leg, impeding her movement. Caradoc was swiftly by her side, taking his girlfriend's hand in his and kissed it.

"When did you get back Cary?" she asked, blushing.

"Just last night." He said, before pecking her on the lips.

She stroked his face and for the first time noticed a decent amount of stubble on his usually smooth face.

"Cary…are you trying to grow a beard, or did you just not have enough time to shave while on campaign?" She asked, not quite sure what to make of it.

"I don't wike it! It's scwatchy!" complained Malori, rubbing her face.

"Yes, as a matter of fact I am trying to grow a beard; I figure it would make me look older. Do you like it?" he asked, responding to Leighla's question.

"Trying to look older? For what purpose?" Leighla asked, her dark green eyes looking at him curiously.

"For what purpose?" he asked surprised that the question was even raised, "Why so that the leaders in The Order will see fit to give me more important missions!"

"Cary!" Leighla exclaimed, "You should be proud of your youth! And besides, do you think that growing a beard is going to fool anyone? They all know who you are and how young you are, it's one of the things that has made you famous!"

Indeed, she was right. Caradoc had been made a paladin directly after a battle, right upon the bloody fields by his commanding officer, Lord Keldorn Firecam, a paladin of great renown, at the battle of Hulberg in the country of Moonsea far to the northeast. The battle of the besieged city of Hulberg aided by the paladins of The Most Noble Order of the Radiant Heart against the evil Zhentarim mercenary company and their hoard of orcish allies was long and bloody lasting from the soft pink glow of dawn until the setting of the sun as its light cast a blood red hue upon the corpse-strewn fields. Caradoc, as young as he was, distinguished himself in the battle with his prowess and bravery, to such an extent that it proved beyond a doubt that he was a prodigy. Rumors surrounding the battle were rife. Some said that he had killed thousand men, others, that he had single-handedly saved the battle for The Order by causing fire to rain down upon their enemies and renewing the hope in the men, that he had single-handedly held a pass for some of the more foolish children of Hulberg, giving them enough time to disappear deep into the woods, safely away from the battle after a group of them had foolishly hid out in sheds and stables armed with hammers, scythes, and sticks, excited to get their first taste of battle. After actually _experiencing _the battle first-hand, they got terrified and were fleeing, a number of the enemy gleefully giving chase. Caradoc had told them to hide deep in the woods and he held the pass alone, to ensure that none followed. And, again according to the rumors, none of the enemy lived to, falling before him. To top it off, it was also widely held that he had rescued their leader after he had been separated from the rest of the men and killed another thousand of the enemy to do so, then stood directly over his injured leader, taking on the immense horde of the enemy, his immense six foot long Claymore, bloodied up to the hilt, slashed and jabbed with God-like power and precision. There were even a few crazed prophets yelling on street corners how he wasn't a seventeen year old child at all, but rather a god-incarnate.

To all rumors there is always some grain of truth, The Order knew this and they did not do much to quiet such rumors, figuring that the people needed a new hero and such tales of the battle gave them hope. However they did do the best they could to silence the mad priests and prophets who were proclaiming him a god. Such blasphemy and complete lunacy was _not_ good. Despite all the attention, it had no effect on the young man who, at his cloistered little home at Candlekeep, hadn't heard most of the rumors anyway and would have been thoroughly embarrassed had he known some crazed individuals were hailing him as a god.

Regardless of what he had truly done during the course of the battle, the truth being known only by those who had fought alongside him, when Caradoc rose from his knees after Lord Keldorn had dubbed him, he was, at 18 years of age, the youngest paladin of The Order in the entire history of its existence. It was exceedingly rare for someone under the age of thirty to be admitted into The Order, as the younger paladins, as a general rule, served in The Order's Auxiliary forces. Needless to say, it was an unbelievable honor to be admitted into The Order proper while still little more than a child.

Leighla felt a twinge of shame as she felt tears fighting their way to her eyes and when a couple managed to escape she wiped them away angrily with the back of her hand.

"And by 'more important missions', do you mean more _dangerous_ missions?"

"Of course, there is always a degree of danger in what The Order does." He said, oblivious to her sadness.

"Leighla, you're concerned for Cawy, awen't you? You don't need to be, nobody can beat Cawadoc in battle; he's the best!" said Malori looking up at her, speaking with the naivety that children always have. She was such a sweet child, looking up at her with bright, sweet, innocent eyes. Her brow then furrowed and she cocked her head to one side,

"Leighla, are you cwying? Cawy doesn't like to see you cwy and me neever!" she said, giving Leighla's hand a tiny, comforting squeeze.

Leighla looked down at the little girl that was looking up at her and gave a wan smile just as a small tear trickled down her cheek. Oh, how she hoped that one day she would get married and have a child as sweet as Malori, but she knew, even at her present age of 17 that there would only be one man whom she would ever consent to marry. Looking at the young man standing right before her, handsome, tall, strong, and golden, looking for all the world like the ancient sun god Amaunator returned, with eyes as blue as the sky; it made her want to cry at the thought of him lying dead on some distant battle field, his skin ghostly white beneath grime and blood, never to open his eyes again, never again to return to her, to hold her, to kiss her, to merely be beside her in everything. It was that vision that she had every night when he was gone on campaign, and every time she would see Kelemvor, god of the dead, arrive to take him to the realm of the dead and no matter how much she would beg and plead for him not to take Caradoc away, the Lord of the Dead would scarcely even acknowledge her presence, leaving Leighla to collapse onto Caradoc's dead corpse sobbing and screaming inconsolably. Each time she would awake screaming and crying with grief causing her father to come running to see what was the matter and eventually resorting to giving her a dreamless sleep potion. She was strong but she could not help but worry over her sweetheart's safety when he was away and it made her angry and sad that he would be so content in seeking out yet greater and greater danger. She was roused from her musings by a soft voice speaking her name.

"Leighla, dear heart, are you ok? Please, don't cry." Said Caradoc soothingly; his thumb wiping away the tears that had begun running down her cheeks more and more until she gave up on trying to stop them.

"Leighla, shhhh…it's ok, hey, it's ok." He said, taking her into his arms, her head resting on his chest.

"Please Cary, you're only 18, you don't need to put yourself in harm's way, you can leave the more dangerous missions to the older, more experienced paladins."

"If they see it fit to trust me with more important missions, I shant turn them down."

"But promise me you won't actively seek them out…"

"Shhhh…it'll be all right." He murmured into her long, silky smooth black hair, smelling its sweet fragrance, opting not to answer her outright, choosing instead to enfold her tighter in his arms.

"Besides darling, The Order is now focusing on missionary work closer to home, basic run of the mill things. You see, I was hoping to be given more responsibility within The Order in general, not just on the battlefield, thus, this" he said smiling, gesturing at his scraggly face. "As far as I know, I am not going to be seeing real action for a while, nor will the majority of the paladins; we'll just be helping to maintain the peace as always."

Leighla pulled away slightly and looked at him, happiness and relief writ large in her eyes.

"You mean you will be remaining here with us?" she asked, not yet fully believing his words.

"That is correct, though I may have people here calling on me to speak of Order matters and I may have to be out sometimes for a few hours at a time, never more than that, at least for a while." He smiled, "And if these whiskers are upsetting you so my dear, I will shave them the first chance I get." He said laughing.

Leighla laughed too, wiping away a stray tear.

"I'm so happy that you'll be with us Cary! And yes, I don't mind the whiskers, but it just doesn't look like you and," she said kissing him, "it scratches when I kiss you!"

"I can't have that now, can I?" said Caradoc laughing, embracing her.

"Yay! Cawadoc's gonna stay with us!" Malori said gleefully.

Just then, a middle aged man dressed in some brown fuzzy…thing, and a small, brown haired girl about Malori's age dressed a wizard's hat and wizard's robe walked over to them.

"Daddy! Imoen!" Malori exclaimed, running over to the man who had his arms wide open to receive her.

"Hey kiddo!" he said hugging her.

"Daddy you look like a bear!" Malori said laughing.

Caradoc turned to them,

"Father, what in the name of Helm _are_ you wearing?" he said, trying to suppress a laugh, but failing horribly.

"For your information, Malori is correct, it is a bear costume I made for today, I worked on it all this week, I made it myself from scratch. Hey, don't you laugh boy!" he said scowling playfully at Caradoc.

"Sorry Dad, but you've got to admit, it _does _look rather ridiculous." He said

"Hrmph. Well, at least I dressed as something to ward of the evil spirits, what about you?"

"Please father, I don't need a costume, when they see the great Sir Caradoc of Candlekeep, they'll run off back to wherever they came from. They know better than to mess with me." He said boastfully.

"I see…and what about Leighla?"

"She's my pretty damsel in whose name I fight!" he said debonairly, just as he imagined the great paladins of legend spoke. Leighla blushed and kissed him.

"That's not fair, you can't be yourself!" Gorion protested "At least Malori, Imoen, and I are getting into the spirit of the holiday."

Meanwhile, Malori put back on her gibberling mask and started growling and chasing after her friend, Imoen, who was about the same age as her. They didn't know really when their birthday's were or who was older as they were adopted, Malori by Gorion and Imoen by the jolly innkeeper, Winthrop.

Imoen screamed and ran as Malori chased her growling all the way. Finally, Imoen stopped running and turned around, holding her hand out and chanting strange words, "Annos! Pentos! PAH! Ha! Now you're dead!"

And Malori clutching her chest dramatically, made a loud moaning sound, staggering around, finally collapsed to the ground in pretend death.

"Yay! I killed the gibbuhling!" Imoen cheered.

Then, Malori popped back up, her mask off and ran over to her best friend and went,

"Tag, you it!" she yelled and ran off as fast as she could.

Even in those flowing robes, Malori knew Imoen was still faster than her and if she got caught she would never be done being 'it' and so, after several minutes of running, she yelled out,

"Cawadoc's safe!"

"Nuh, uh!"

"Uh, huh!"

"Nuh, UH! It's not fair!"

"Fine, whoevuh gets to him furst wins!"

They both took off at a dead run and Malori reached first, touching his arm.

"Hey munchkin!" he said looking down at her, "you want up?"

She nodded eagerly and held out her arms for him to lift her up, which he did.

"You're _weally _going to be staying wif us Cawy?"

"Yes munchkin, I'm going to be staying for a while." He said smiling at her.

"Daddy!" Malori called from her high perch, "Cawy's going to be staying wif us!" she said excitedly!

"That's wonderful!" he said.

"Uh huh! Cawy, you have to tell me all about your adventures and how you fought evil doers. Daddy always tells me a bedtime stowy to help me sleep; usually they are about famous adventuwuhs or paladins and my favowites ah the one's when he tells me of you!" She said, poking him square in the chest.

"Sometimes he weads your lettuhs and I always weally like it when you mention me!" she said smiling from ear to ear.

To her, Caradoc wasn't an older brother; she had seen so little of him in her five years since he had been away training in the Amnish capital of Athkatla and later on, traveling as a trainee on some of their missions that he was a figure in her mind, akin to the great adventurers and paladins of lore. Whenever he was home, which was rare, she absolutely reveled in it.

"Daddy says sometimes when I wake up wif a nightmayuh dat I shouldn't be scawed because you are out pwotecting me fwum de bad guys, den I feel bettuh." She said hugging him.

"That's right munchkin! And don't you ever forget that, good old Caradoc is always going to be here to protect you." He said squeezing her back.

"Dats because you love me!" she said, giving him a kiss on his cheek.

"That's right, munchkin, I love you."

"And Imoen!" Malori exclaimed

"Yes, _and _Imoen." He said lightly poking the tip of Malori's nose.

"Will you love me fohevuh Cawy?"

"Of course munchkin, forever and ever!"

"How long is fohevuh"

"Think of the longest amount of time that you can."

"Ok, ooh..when I'm 10! You'll love me till I'm 10? Dat's a long time!"

"No sweetie, forever is much longer than that, 'til your 100, and even then.

"Wow! I'll love you fohevuh too! said hugging him again. But then she got a sad look.

"What if I do something bad? Will you still love me then?"

"Of course!"

"But what if I do something weally bad?"

"I couldn't imagine you doing anything really bad, but even if you did, I would still love you munchkin."

"But you kill bad guys."

"Sometimes, but there is a difference between doing something bad and being a bad guy, I know bad guys and you are not, nor ever will be a bad guy." He said seriously, "Imoen on the other hand…"he started jokingly,

"Now Cawy!" Malori said cutely glaring at him and shaking her finger, "Imoen is a good! She's not a bad guy!"

"Yes munchkin, I know, I was just kidding!" he said laughing.

"It's not funny!"Malori said pouting.

"I know, I'm sorry Malori. Do you still love me?" he asked, using his puppy dog look, though he knew it was nowhere near as good as hers.

"Of _couwse _Cawy!" she said, "Fowevuh and evuh!"

"Awww…thanks munchkin!" he said, giving her a kiss on her forehead. "Here, do you want to be put down?"

"Ok!"

"Ok!" he said lowering her to the ground.

"EEEEEWWWWW!" Imoen said! "He kissed you! Kisses are yucky!"

"Nuh, uh!" Malori said.

"Uh HUH, they are _too_!"

"Now Imoen, are you saying that because you are jealous? I could give you a kiss too!" he said, holding his arms out, puckering up playfully, knowing exactly what Imoen was going to say next.

"EEEWWWWWW!" she exclaimed again, running away from him. "Boys are yucky!"

"No they're not!" Malori said.

"Uh huh!"

"Well, maybe, but Cawy's not a boy, Cawy's all gwoan up! He's a man, men awen't yucky. Cawy's bwave and keeps us safe! Cawy's de best! Nobody can beat Cawy, not evuh!"

"Still doesn't change the fact that he's yucky!"

"NO HE'S NOT!" Malori screamed, she didn't like it when people didn't talk nicely about Caradoc.

"Fine, he's not yucky, but I don't want him to kiss me, kisses are yucky." Imoen said, covering her face childishly with her arms, as though protecting it from any kisses that might be placed on it while she was unawares.

"It's ok Imoen; I'm not going to kiss you." Caradoc said laughing.

"You'se had bettuh not!" Imoen responded sternly with a suspicious scowl, which at her age, was just adorable.

"Daddy! I's so happy dat Cawy is going to be staying wif us!" Malori said excitedly to Gorion, hugging him tightly

"Yes honey I know, but you are going to let go of me, the monks need to discuss some business with me, will you stay here and be good for Caradoc and Leighla?"

"Yay! I get to stay!" once again putting on her mask and playing with Imoen.

"Yeah, Dad, she'll be fine, she always is." Caradoc said smiling, nodding for the older man to leave.

"Ok, well, be good you two!" he called out as he left.

"Yes Daddy!" Malori called back, Imoen, as usual just ignored him, she wasn't going to respond unless made to, she wasn't about to promise anything.

Moments after he took his leave, a voice called out that Malori didn't recognize but Caradoc certainly did,

"Cary? Is that you?"

It was a man about Caradoc's age of medium height, but seemed outright short compared to Caradoc; he had gray eyes and jet black hair.

"Dwayne? By the gods! It is you! It's been years!"

The two young men shook hands and quickly embraced.

"Damn Cary! Never thought I'd see you again after you left from Zazesspur that one day."

Yes, returning to the castle in the Tethyrian capital only to find out that King Alaric was dead, Prince Caldaron banished, and young Cordero holding the throne all alone amongst a pack of wolves led by his uncle Lord Karan, was one of the biggest shocks in his life. Both that and Cordero's death mere weeks later, making Lord Karan king. The people would never accept him as king, however, and the nation was now embroiled in a bloody civil war. It was a time that Caradoc would rather put behind him.

"I wouldn't have guessed in a million years that you would be a paladin the next time we met, Damn, a paladin of The Order already! Who did you have to sleep with for them to let you in?" he said laughing.

Malori did not like what this man was insinuating about Caradoc, her eyes grew dark and she said,

"Cawadoc's not lazy! He got into de Order because he is stwong and bwave and is de bestest, he did NOT get in by sleeping, dat's lazy!"

Dwayne looked down at her with an amused expression, his eyebrows raised.

"Why hello there little one." He said, reaching down to ruffle her golden blonde hair, feeling her cringe under his touch. He took his hand away in surprise when he felt some dark essence resonating from the sweet looking little girl.

"Now Dwayne, please, not in polite company." Caradoc said, referring to his earlier statement.

"Oh!" Dwayne exclaimed as he turned and saw Leighla standing beside his old friend. "I must beg your pardon Ms…."

"Leighla." Leighla said softly.

"Enchanted." Dwayne responded, placing a light kiss on the back of her hand.

"Cary, you never told you had such a charming young wife."

"I'm…I'm not his wife!" Leighla stammered, blushing scarlet.

"Oh, my dear, I apologize for the mistake. I take it that you are his intended."

"No, nothing like that, I'm his girlfriend." She said still blushing.

"Now Cary, I would marry this beautiful young lady before someone steals her from you." He said playfully nudging his old friend, laughing at how even now he could see an _almost_ imperceptible rosy tint colored his cheeks.

"Ha, you haven't changed a bit Cary!"

"No, I haven't! I can still beat you soundly with one arm tied behind my back!" he said boastfully.

"Perhaps, but did you ever tell them how I saved your life way back when."

"No, I hadn't, but I haven't forgotten that. I owe you for that one." Caradoc said.

"Nuh, UH!" Malori and Imoen both exclaimed.

"No you didn't, Cawy never needs help!" Malori said, not yet over the fact that Cary was friends with this guy, she didn't like him, she didn't know why, but she didn't.

"Yeah, Cawy can beat anyone especially some wimp like you! I don't like you!" Imoen yelled, walking up to him and kicking him in the shin as hard as she could.

"Now Imoen, apologize this instant! That is no way to treat a guest!" Caradoc said sternly.

"No!" Imoen responded childishly, "I don't like him!" she said sticking her tongue out at the guest.

"Ha! It's no problem Cary! I like this kid, she's got moxy! Are they yours?"

"What? No! No, the blonde one is a child Gorion adopted a while back and the one who just kicked you is her friend Imoen, the innkeeper's daughter."

"Oh, I see. Well met, both of you! Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll be off."

"What? Already?" Caradoc asked, obviously disappointed. "I thought we could hangout; catch up on old times…"

"Oh yes, indeed, by that you mean sparring and completely beating me just to impress that pretty girlfriend of yours, no thank you. I actually came to look something up in your famous libraries, something I've been interested in for a long time. Perhaps we can meet up later?"

"I'd like that." Caradoc responded.

"Good, just don't get drunk in the meantime. I don't want you to be hung-over and think up some crazy, convoluted plan to get the both of us killed again."

"You're never going to let me live that down are you?" he asked ruefully.

"Nope!" Dwayne said cheerfully, and then he was off.

After Dwayne was out of earshot, Caradoc turned to the two children and said,

"Now you two, what got into you? That was not a nice way to treat a guest, especially not one of my best friends!" he said squatting down so he could get down to their level.

"I don't like him! He's not good!" Imoen said, folding her arms and scowling.

"You still should not have kicked him that was _not_ nice. Why don't you like him?"

"Because!" Imoen exclaimed not capable of a more detailed explanation.

Caradoc sighed, but gave up on her, truth be told, he wasn't at all surprised by that sort of thing from Imoen, but from _Malori_, now that _had_ surprised him. She was sweet and liked everyone.

"Malori, what about you, why were you mean to our guest?" he asked, trying not to sound too stern, knowing how sensitive she was, but clearly he must not have tried hard enough because he saw her eyes flood with tears.

"I'm sowy Cawy…"she said, not able to look him in the eye and he saw some tears running down the tip of her little nose as she lowered her head. "He was saying bad stuff about you and I don't like that!" By the time she finished, she was sobbing.

"Hey, hey, sweetie, it's ok, shhhh…" he said soothingly, hugging her as she buried her face in his chest and rubbing her back softly, feeling it rise and fall sporadically as she cried. "It's ok sweetie, he was just kidding around with me, it's what we do. I knew he was joking around, it didn't bother me, I'm sorry it bothered you so much munchkin, I don't like you getting so upset for me, but thank you." He could feel that she was starting to calm down, her breath coming in gasps as she tried to catch her breath. "Are you ok sweetie?"

She pulled away a little and looked up at him, wiped her nose on her sleeve and nodded.

"But he was telling lies! You say dat it's not good to lie!" she said.

"Now when did he lie?"

"When he said that he saved yowah life!" she responded.

"Yeah, we bof know dat you nefer need help fwum anybody!" Imoen piped up.

At this point Leighla joined them as well and said,

"It's true; hearing that man say how he saved your life was quite surprising. I've never heard you speak of it before."

"It was quite a harrowing experience; I don't like to dwell on it over much." Caradoc said. "But it _is _quite a story. It happened back when I was a boy."

"_You _were wittle?" Malori asked in awe. She couldn't imagine that this great hero had ever been a little boy; much less that he was _still_ actually little more than a boy_._

"Yes, indeed I was, though that was a _loooong _time ago."

"Yes, like a bazillion years ago!" Malori said waving her arms wildly.

"No, not _that _long ago, but it does feel like it sometimes!" he laughed.

"Can you tell us de stowy?" Malori asked sweetly.

"Oh, I don't know…"Caradoc mused, both teasingly and genuinely trying to figure out how he would be able to turn the bloody tale into something appropriate for the little ones and also make him look more like the hero than Dwayne.

"Pweese!" Malori and Imoen begged in unison.

"Ok…" Caradoc said, jokingly exasperated. "Long ago, when I was little, I was the ward of Prince Caldaron of Tethyr-"

"Oooohhh!" The two girls said in unison.

"Weally? You were taught by de pwince of Tethyuh? WOW!" Malori exclaimed in awe.

"Indeed I was, for several years. Anyway, one day I got out of lessons early and so my best friend Dwayne and I were wondering what to do for the rest of the day."

"You mean dat Dwayne is your best fwiend like Imoen is mine?" Malori asked.

"Yes indeed, and he wondered what we should do because we were bored. Of the two of us, he was the troublemaker and always thought up things for us to do that would almost get me into trouble, so he was, in a sense, like Imoen is."

Imoen pondered that and nodded, she was proud of the fact that she was so clever and didn't feel as bound to follow the rules as Malori did.

"I, on the other hand, was the well-behaved one and would usually try and follow the rules but was convinced into breaking the rules by Dwayne."

"Like me!" Malori said excitedly. She was obviously thrilled that she was somewhat like Caradoc when he was younger.

Caradoc thought about it.

"You know what Malori, yes, in many ways I was a lot like you as a kid. At any rate," he said continuing, "I surprised him by being the one to figure out something to do, something that was dangerous, we were going to explore the Great Forest."

"WOW!" they both said again.

"You must have been vewy bwave!" Malori exclaimed

"Indeed I was! Either that or very foolish, before we knew it, the sky was dark with clouds and it started to rain. Dwayne wanted to head back, but I didn't want to and said that he was just chicken so he decided to stay in the forest with me. Before we knew it, there was a storm and we were going to head back, when, up ahead I saw a clearing and there was a strange, otherworldly glow coming from it."

"What was it?" Imoen asked enthralled.

"Well, we didn't know, so I said we should check it out, even though we were already soaked to the bone. So we continued on. Finally, we reached the place and we peaked in from behind the trees so we wouldn't be seen. And what should we see in the clearing but a group of priests conducting a ritual, but they weren't just _any_ priests, but priests of _Cyric._"

Now it was Leighla's time to react to the story and she gasped at the thought of the evil priests.

"Cywic?" Imoen and Malori asked.

"Yes, Cyric. He is an evil god, god of murder, illusions, lies, and former god of the dead before the job was given to Kelemvor. And his priests were within miles of the royal Tethyrian court, a people closely connected with Torm, god of duty and loyalty and paladins, a very good god. The forest is also revered by the elves and many call it home. It is also part of the domain of the great elven god of nature, Rillifane Rallathil. Therefore, it was an insult to the gods that these evil priests were there as well as a danger to people within close proximity to the forest. Needless to say, I was angry and I used some of my holy magic that I had been developing to call upon Helm to aide me and I received a holy mace which I intended to use to smite those priests and send them to their evil god."

The two girls were listening wide-eyed in amazement.

"See Imoen, I _told_ you Cawadoc is bwave!" Malori whispered

"And against my friend's judgment, I ran out into the clearing, my mace raised high above my head and began to smite them mightily, dodging their unholy magic that they hurled at me from all sides. I had already deflected one of their spells right back at them, killing the caster. However, I was still vastly outnumbered. There were fifteen of them and only one of me and my friend was still hiding in the trees. They were closing in on me from all sides, but I was still fighting, like a caged lion, constantly turning around, not wanting to turn my back on any of them. Before I knew it I was able to dispatch three more of them, and I was still going strong, despite the fact that my head was bleeding and the blood was streaming onto my face, into my eyes, obscuring my vision. Then, just as I was about to defeat them all with one decisive blow, drawing upon my holy might to summon a spell that would send fire down upon them, badly hurting them, if not killing them outright, I heard a voice from behind me, coming in the direction of the trees where my friend Dwayne had been hiding. It was him, but it didn't look like him, his eyes seemed almost to glow and he spoke so strongly and with such authority that it made all of us turn to him. He demanded that they stand down, when they refused, he did some sort of spell, how he cast it, I'll never know, but he held out his hand and chanted and froze all of the priests right where they were, demanding angrily that we return home and leave the priests there as they would no longer pose a danger to anyone. I was angry as I wanted them to pay for their trespassing, but he refused and so, grudgingly, we went home, leaving the woods and traveling back into the storm."

"But Cawy! He didn't save you! You could have beated dem all by yourself!" Malori exclaimed.

"That's true munchkin, but Dwayne was so convinced that he had saved me from certain death that I let him believe it."

"Imoen!" Malori called out. "I'm Cawadoc and you is de evil pwiests! Have at thee!" she yelled and she chased Imoen wielding an invisible mace as Imoen ran while trying to cast imaginary spells at her. While the kids were distracted by their game, Leighla walked over to Caradoc and whispered in his ear,

"Quite a nice little story you told the girls, but something's telling me that you made most of it up."

"Yes, indeed, the real story is a bit bloodier than that and I didn't want to scare the kids…"

"And you actually _did_ need Dwayne's help, but you deemphasized that aspect of the story because you still want them to think that you are invincible. Am I close?"

"You are spot on my dear." Caradoc said, a little bit of disappointment creeping into his voice, which didn't go unnoticed by Leighla.

"You know Cary," Leighla said seductively, "I personally like it when a man admits that he needs help from time to time. I don't know why, I guess catching a glimpse of a strong man's vulnerable side makes him all the more attractive." She said, running her hand lightly on his chest.

"If you're sure…" he said "I have to warn you, it is not as pleasant a tale as the one I just told…I don't want it to frighten you…"

"Well, if it _does _give me nightmares, I know just the man who can alleviate them for me." She said looking up at him coyly.

His eyes widened a bit and a light blush appeared on his face.

"W-well, you-you know that I would n-never take advantage of such a s-situation…" he said, inwardly cursing his stuttering.

"I know you wouldn't honey." She said, "You don't have to be so afraid of father you know."

Caradoc didn't have to think twice.

"That's easy for _you _to say, you're daddy's little girl, and I'm the big bad boyfriend, trying to take his little girl away from him. I most certainly _do _need to be afraid of him! If he even _thought_ we were doing anything, he would _kill_ me!" he exclaimed.

Leighla's father was a friend of Gorion's, one of his adventuring companions in his youth by the name of Peregrine Matthias. He was a little less than average height but of a strong build. He had dark hair and a neatly trimmed beard both of which were beginning to gray. What he lacked in stature he made up in presence. His face, roguishly handsome in his youth was lightly weathered as one would expect from his time adventuring. However, he was not an old man and his vitality could be seen in his gray-blue eyes which were as sharp as a hawk's. He was fearless and extremely protective of his only child, the beautiful Leighla, whose mother he had met on his travels far to the east in the desert sands of Unther. He had married her and brought her to Candlekeep. She had died giving birth to Leighla, their only child, thus his overprotective nature towards her.

He was a priest of Helm by trade and had traveled spreading the name of his deity as well as gaining wisdom. Indeed, while on his travels he had received the title of Chikao, which meant wise-one. Caradoc almost always used it when addressing the priest to ensure that he stayed on his good side. He remembered all too well what Peregrine had told him when he and Leighla told her father that they were courting. He had said to him,

"Let's take a walk, shall we?"

From his tone and the look he was giving, Caradoc knew it was a command rather than a request. When Caradoc realized that their stroll was leading them towards the cemetery, Caradoc could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Caradoc followed Peregrine through the cemetery in complete silence until the priest came to a stop in front of an unused grave plot. He motioned over to the young man to stand beside him,

"Do you see this plot, young man?" he asked casually, not looking at Caradoc but rather at the scenery.

"Yes sir." Caradoc confirmed, uneasy at what Lord Matthias meant by bringing him here.

Peregrine turned quickly, facing Caradoc, his sharp gray eyes glaring into Caradoc's with such intensity that it made the younger man want to take a step back, but he didn't. Knowing that he fully had the young man's attention, he said in a soft, menacing voice,

"You hurt my daughter in _any _way and I will bury you in this very spot. I'll bury you here after you have suffered an 'unfortunate accident'. Do we understand each other?"

"Yes sir." Caradoc said with a gulp.

Caradoc was taken out of his musings by Leighla's voice calling his name.

"Cary, hello, are you there? You seemed to have drifted off. Like I said, you don't need to be afraid of Daddy, I think he likes you."

"Yes…" Caradoc said disbelievingly, "I'm sure he does."

The famous library of Candlekeep was as enormous as it was ancient. It had been protected for the whole duration of its two thousand year existence by a group of monks in the service of the god Oghma, Lord of Knowledge, who bore the title of the Avowed. Throughout the library's existence, the Avowed had diligently added to it by requiring anyone who wished entrance within the walls of the Candlekeep to make a donation of a tome of great worth to the library.

Dwayne swore under his breath as he perused the massive library. He had been there for some time and yet did not know exactly what he was searching for. The approach of 'he'd know it when he saw it' now seemed a very impractical way of going about it. He was glancing through yet another row of tomes when an old monk in a brown robe and cowl approached him and asked kindly,

"How can I assist you sir?"

Dwayne was going to grumble at the kind old man to go away when he registered the monk's words.

"Why thank you, though I'm not sure if you can. You see I am friends with Lord Caradoc."

"Ah, so you must be Lord Dwayne. Yes, I've heard about you from Sir Caradoc."

"Just Dwayne, please. I am no one of consequence."

"Nonsense sir, anyone who is a friend of Sir Caradoc is a person of importance and is welcome within these walls. Now, how may I assist you?"

"Well sir, you see, even though I am good friends with Sir Caradoc, I know very little about him, like how he has been admitted into The Order so young. I find it quite remarkable."

"Indeed, we are all very proud of him. It was the proudest moment of Lord Gorion's life as well as Sir Caradoc's I do believe."

"Lord Gorion is his father, is he not?"

But the old man was not paying attention; rather he had gotten up on a ladder and was searching for something.

"Here, sir. If you wish to gain some insight into your friend's life, I would suggest you look over in this section. Over the years, he has unofficially made this stack of books his own. He has always been fond of reading, ever since he was a young child. His favorites were biographies of paladins, histories of The Order, and the teachings of Helm as well as the sermons given by his priests."

The old man handed Dwayne a tome of fine black leather with a yellow-gold text that was, though not old, bearing some amount of wear, as though it had indeed been read countless times.

"This is Sir Caradoc's favorite book. He's read it more times than I can count. Perhaps what you seek will be found within its pages."

The tome read Од љубов и заштита дојде чудо, which Dwayne recognized as being the ancient script of Helm, though he had no idea of what it said. However, the book was also subtitled, "The Wisdom of Helm."

"Well thank you sir, I shall most certainly read this and see what I can learn from it."

"You are kindly welcome sir, now, if you will pardon me, I must be going, I have duties I must see to elsewhere." And with that, he left.

Dwayne began to read. The first page began with more ancient text,

Што ќе може да добијат мудри и знаат дека секогаш сме со тебе мило чедо

Then, it continued on in common tongue, and immediately Dwayne's eyes opened wide, not truly believing what he read.

"My blessings upon thee. It is not often that I speak through this medium, but then, this is no ordinary tome. My wisdom has been expressed by others since time immemorial, I figure now is a good time and you a perfect recipient to hear my teachings straight from my mouth, so to speak. Would that I could find another way, alas, this is the closest thing that I can devise to speaking with you face to face, would that I could. I have gone by many titles, including The Watcher and The Vigilant One among others, but now I am proud to say that I can add another title to my list, татко, сакањето заштитни татко. As I am writing this, dark, dangerous times have befallen Faerun and I fear that it is only the beginning. So, with that in mind, we leave this, along with our greatest treasure, Ви нашата мила син, here under the protection of Gorion and the monks of Candlekeep, lest they both be destroyed. Though it pains us, we know that it is the best course of action. I hope that what is inscribed in this tome will be of great use and comfort to you in your times of trial. Our love and protection upon you always, мајка и татко."

There was much that Dwayne could not make out due to the fact that it was in Helm's ancient text, if indeed, that was what it was. He had heard it spoken on rare occasions, but even more rarely did he see it in text. However, it only made sense that that is what it was. It was a tome of Helm, and not only of Helm but by Helm himself, if Dwayne was to believe the scribe. It was obviously written to someone in particular, but whom? Why would it open for all to read? What was the great treasure that was left along with it? Why was Caradoc so interested in the book? Well, the answer to that was obvious, who _wouldn't _be interested in a tome that was supposedly written by Helm himself? However, thus far, this tome was raising more questions than it answered. Dwayne figured that he should just read on, surely the questions would be answered in time. That small portion was obviously a dedication of some sort, but dedicated to whom, it did not say. Again, yet more questions. Though instead of being frustrated, Dwayne's interest was through the roof over this tome. He was about to read on when he saw an old, yellow piece of paper fall out of the book that must have been tucked in years previously. Picking it up, he read a neat, yet childish script,

"This tome seems to be very important and meant to be read by someone very important. Why would father suggest I read this? To think, that I may hold in my hands, the writing of The Great Watcher himself, my hands are shaking! I wonder what all this is speaking of! What is the great treasure that was left here? Why did Helm think that it could be destroyed? How could anything belonging to The Vigilant One be destroyed? Why entrust it to mortals? I ask father and implore that he translate the strange text to me. He says that he cannot as he does not know how. Though he did say that it is the writing text of the ancient language of Helm. I had Chikao read it. He says that even with all of his travels that even he cannot read the text but does agree with father that it is indeed Helm's own ancient language and that only He or his most high priests would have the knowledge necessary to actually write the language down and he even has doubts on the abilities on the latter. He does remember it being dropped off at the gates into Father's hands along with a package of some sort, what that package was, he would not say. I know not if he even knew what it was, but after reading this I am sure that it must have been the 'great treasure' that Helm spoke of. I cannot wait to read more of this, though Father says that I have to read it in the library, lest I lose it! I resent that! Who does he think I am, Phlydia? The old mage Firebeard's young apprentice girl? I swear that girl loses EVERYTING! She would lose her head if it wasn't screwed on! At least she's nice though, Leighla on the other hand is mean! Just the other day she stuck out her tongue and ran away…"

Dwayne laughed at the note his friend left as a young child and tucked it back into the pages. Yet, it did raise an interesting point. Why _had _Gorion given the book for the boy to read, it couldn't be just because he felt that the tome would be educational, was it? That _could _be, however more and more Dwayne began to think that was not the only reason.

Closing the book, he went to find the monk who had found him the book who was speaking with a middle aged man, his jet-black hair and beard streaked with gray, his brown eyes lined with care. Their conversation was just ending as Dwayne walked up to them. The man looked at Dwayne, giving him a penetrating look that would have made a lesser man cringe. Then he walked away. The monk then turned around and spoke to Dwayne,

"Do not mind Lord Gorion, he is just a bit anxious as of late."

"Really? To what end? Is something wrong?" Dwayne asked, concerned.

"Oh, no, nothing that you need to concern yourself with. Now," he said, changing the subject, "have you read that tome?"

"A small portion of it only, it is indeed fascinating. You wouldn't by any chance know who delivered it or when, would you?"

The old man mused.

"Hmm…whom, I know not. But when, yes, I _do _know that. I remember the day very well."

"When was it?" Dwayne asked, trying not to sound overly eager, not as though he wanted to strangle the old man to get the answer.

"Oh, not so long ago. Indeed, it seems like only yesterday…"the old man said, drifting off into memories. Dwayne waited, hoping that the old man's reveries would reveal something to him. He cursed silently when the man just remained silent.

"How long ago?" Dwayne asked insistently, getting more annoyed by the moment, though the monk didn't seem to notice.

"Well sir, if you look at the cover as well as the spine of the tome," the old man said pointing, "it says right there."

Dwayne's eyes widened in surprise, and looking at the book, indeed, written in golden script was the year.

A/N: Well, thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. Not too much action, I know, there'll be more action in the next chapter. So please check back for more! If you enjoyed this chapter, please review, if not keep your opinions to yourself! Jk! ;)


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I do not own Baldur's Gate, I write this purely for my own entertainment, and I hope that you all get at least _some_ amusement from reading it as well.

Chapter 7: 5 Uktar 1353- Candlekeep

It was a frigid day, the sky was gray and a few light and fluffy flakes of snow were falling gently from the sky. Malori was outside trying to catch the elusive flakes on her tongue, her head tipped back and her mouth open wide, her tongue outstretched, yet having little luck. She was getting a little bored since she didn't have Imoen to play with as she had caught a cold and Winthrop wouldn't let her go outside to play in the cold.

Gorion was standing a short distance away watching the little girl. He walked over to her a smile on his face.

"Malori, do you want to come with me?"

"Where Daddy?"

"To the training room. Caradoc is going to be sparring with his friend. Do you want to watch?"

Her eyes opened wide with excitement

"Really?" It was rare that she ever saw Caradoc in action, but she could imagine how wonderful he was, she really wanted to see it.

"Yes, really." Gorion said smiling

The little girl let out a whoop of excitement and took off at a run, going as fast as her little legs would let her, with Gorion walking after her calling for her to slow down.

Caradoc and Dwayne were in the training room deciding on which weapons they would use.

"I can't believe that you actually agreed to this Dwayne." Caradoc said, "Usually you would need a lot of convincing." He laughed, "No matter, I shall enjoy this. You know, I've gotten much better over the years." He said, picking up a sword of medium length, weighing it in his hand, twirling it around to loosen his arm up.

Dwayne smiled, "That may be true, but I too have gotten better over the years, I doubt you can beat me so soundly anymore, I dare say that today I'll emerge the victor." He said, his eyes taking on a determined glint as he took a sword from its sheath that had been hanging at his side.

"Now Dwayne," Caradoc protested, "You can't use your own personal sword!"

"Awww, come on now Cary, be a sport, dear boy. You have undoubtedly trained with every single sword in this room at one point. You know them to a degree that you have mastered all of them. Why can't I use mine? Perhaps you think that I'll beat you?"

"Ha! Of course not! How many times have we fought, and how many times have I won?" he asked boastfully.

"Now now, you know what they say Carey, 'Pride cometh before a fall'." Dwayne playfully lectured, wagging his finger at his friend. "Didn't those paladins teach you that? Aren't paladins not supposed to be boastful?"

"Of course! But I was merely stating the facts; it is a _fact _that you have never bested me in a sparring match. I was just reminding you of that. Besides, I doubt that The Order's warning against pride really applies to best friends, now does it?" he said smiling. "Fine, you can use your sword and I'll use this one. Now, what do you want to go to?"

"Fist blood." Dwayne said

"Ha! Very well, I'll try not to hurt you _too_ badly then."

"Why thank you dear friend. You had best hope that I feel equally generous should I win." Dwayne gave a short laugh that sounded somewhat strange to Caradoc.

"Now Dwayne, don't take this to seriously now, you seem a bit high strung." Caradoc said suspiciously.

"Sorry about that Cary," Dwayne said, sounding like himself again. "I'm just excited, is all, to show you how much I've improved."

"Strange, you didn't seem all that eager when we discussed this in front of Leighla a few days back."

"Well of course not!" Dwayne said rolling his eyes, "If she were here, then there would be no way I could beat you! You would kill me before you let me embarrass you in front of her."

"True, with no one here except us, then no one will ever know that you ever beat me, and I sure as hell won't admit to being beaten by you."

"Well, regardless. I will know and you will know. That'll be enough for me." Dwayne said.

"Ok, ok, enough. Do you think that you can back what you are saying with a sword?"

"I guess there's only one way to find out, friend." Dwayne said, as the both drew their swords.

"Come on, Malori, wait up now, wait for Dad!" Gorion said calling after her, grasping at his knees, trying to catch his breath, which was coming out in white puffs in the cold air. The little girl turned around, laughed at her father and ran back over to him, taking his hand in hers, attempting to drag him along.

"Come on Dad!" she said impatiently, "I want to see Cawy!"

"Don't worry; I'm sure he'll be there for a while. I doubt that they'll only go one round."

"But I don't want to miss it!" she whined.

"Alright, alright, you go on ahead, I'll be there in a minute." Gorion said, slightly surprised at how much he had slowed down in the years since his adventuring youth as his little daughter excitedly ran off, leaving him in the dust.

Dwayne and Caradoc were now slowly circling each other, one and then the other making a quick swipe at their opponent, gauging the other, neither quiet yet ready to commit.

"Come now, Dwayne." Caradoc teased, "it's not too late to back out, no one would ever even have to know." He said, his blue eyes mocking.

Dwayne could feel his temper begin to flair. He had seen those same blue eyes, haughty and mocking before, humiliating and demeaning. He lashed out with an intensity that caught Caradoc off guard, the clash of swords sending a tremor up his arm. Caradoc quickly tightened his grip lest he dropped his sword.

"Dwayne, come on now, you know I was speaking in jest." Caradoc said, a bit concerned at how seriously his friend was taking this. He had always spoken thus in sparring matches. "You are taking this _far_ too seriously. Maybe we should just stop." He said, lowering his sword a fraction.

Dwayne wouldn't let him, however. Propping Caradoc's sword with his own, he gave another swipe.

"Now, why ever should we do that? Are you afraid that I can beat you? That I pose a threat to you, 'all mighty one'?" Dwayne said mockingly.

Dwayne took another fierce swipe at Caradoc, his gray eyes gleaming with determination, purpose, and a small amount of amusement. The ferocity in Dwayne's movements surprised Caradoc

"Dwayne, what has gotten into you?" Caradoc asked, quickly moving his sword to block Dwayne's blow, quickly taking the offensive, pushing Dwayne back swinging his sword quickly towards Dwayne's throat.

Dwayne deftly blocked the blow, "Nothing's wrong Cary, I'm focused on beating you after all these years. Why? Are you scared?" He asked, tauntingly.

Caradoc's eyes narrowed slightly at the challenge, "Of course not!" he said dragging Dwayne's sword up with his and made a quick movement for his exposed stomach. Dwayne leaped back gracefully to evade the jab. Then turned and, with great force, slammed into Caradoc.

Taken completely by surprise by the strength he never knew his friend possessed, he stumbled a few paces a little disoriented. Dwayne, realizing his advantage quickly brought his sword down to strike the winning blow, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. Great was his disappointment when Caradoc regained his footing and, with astonishing speed, swung his sword to block Dwayne's blow, the swords met with such force that sparks could be seen coming from them. Dwayne held on for dear life as the jolt traveled all the way up to his shoulder almost causing him to drop his sword.

"That was a nice try Dwayne, but not _nearly_ good enough." Caradoc said before bringing one of his long legs up and before Dwayne could protect himself, driving it squarely into Dwayne's stomach, the force of it knocking him back several paces and he bent over gasping, the wind having been knocked out of him.

Caradoc moved quickly to make the most of his advantage, raising his sword above his head, ready to end the little sparring match which his friend was taking too seriously in his opinion, when Dwayne quickly 'recovered' and in one swift movement kicked as hard as he could towards his opponent. As usual, however, his tactics were not as noble as Caradoc's. As a result, his aim was a bit 'off'. Dwayne couldn't help but to smirk when he heard Caradoc's sword fall to the ground with a loud clang.

"Damn it Dwayne!" Caradoc gasped in pain, doubled over but too proud to fall to the ground. "Damn it! Damn it! Damn it! By the gods! What the fuck was _that _for?" he said, barely able to croak out the words.

"Come on now, Cary, man up! You know my tactics, we both have our strengths and weaknesses." He said with a humorless smile, kicking Caradoc's sword out of his reach.

"You have your strength and skill, but you also have your chivalry tying you down. Me, on the other hand, I may not be as strong as you are, but neither am I tied down by a code of honor as you are." He said smirking

"Damn it Dwayne, fine, you win. Happy?" Caradoc asked, gritting his teeth in pain, just wanting this to be done.

"Come, come. We agreed on first blood, remember?" Dwayne said grinning from ear to ear.

"Ok, ok, fine, just do it already." Caradoc said.

Dwayne lifted his sword to finally defeat him, when from across the room he heard a

"NO!" Both the young men turned to see a little girl come running at them with surprising speed given her tiny little legs, somehow within mere seconds before Dwayne could refocus his attention on his beaten opponent, the little child had placed herself in front of Caradoc, her arms outstretched in a protective manner. Dwayne looked at her with some interest, it was that golden haired girl he had seen a few days previously, the one he could feel some dark energy coming from. Now she was _defending _Caradoc? Inwardly he laughed, but, with sword in hand, he lifted his arm,

"Get out of the way you little brat!"

Malori didn't so much as flinch, just standing there, arms still outstretched, not letting Dwayne reach Caradoc, completely unaware that Dwayne could easily strike above her given how much shorter she was than Caradoc

Yet Dwayne decided to aim for her and just as he swung his sword to strike her, she felt herself being lifted from the floor as a strong forearm came around her protectively and there was a loud clanging of metal as Dwayne's sword clattered to the ground as Caradoc had in one swift movement picked up his sword and with the pommel smashed Dwayne's sword hand disarming him.

Dwayne now looked into enraged blue eyes and could feel the cold tip of the blade of Caradoc's sword resting on his neck.

"So help me, if you take even _one_ step forward, Dwayne, by all that is holy, I will run you through. Have I made myself clear?" Caradoc growled soft and low.

"Crystal." Dwayne responded calmly.

"Good." Caradoc said, grazing the sword lightly upon his friend's neck, drawing blood, "I win. Now get the hell out of my sight."

Caradoc stood glaring at Dwayne until he was out of sight. Then he looked down at Malori who was clinging to him, crying softly now that she knew she didn't have to be brave anymore. Caradoc knelt down to get to her level and also because with the adrenaline from the fight fleeing from his body, it was becoming hard to stand, given his injury.

"Hey munchkin…shhhh…it's ok." Holding her tightly as she buried her face in his chest, "It's ok. You're ok, he didn't hurt you did he?" he asked concerned. He could feel her shaking her head and he breathed a sigh of relief.

"He was going to huwt you Cawy!"

"Munchkin, it's ok, he wasn't going to hurt me, we were just playing." He said reassuringly.

"No! He was going to huwt you!" she insisted. "I couldn't let him huwt you!" she said clinging to him tightly as if to convince herself that he was there and unharmed. "Did he huwt you?" she asked.

"No sweetie, I'm fine. It takes a lot to hurt old Cary."

Just then, Gorion came in, surprised to see that the match was over and Caradoc comforting a crying Malori.

"What's happened here?" he asked concerned.

"He was going to huwt Cawy!" Malori exclaimed.

Gorion raised a brow.

"No Dad, it was nothing like that. Dwayne and I were fighting like in the old days and he had just gotten the better of me when Malori came in and she thought he was going to hurt me and so she put herself between Dwayne and me in order to 'protect' me."

As Caradoc had been speaking, something on the rush strewn floor had caught Gorion's eye and he walked over and was inspecting it. Dwayne had left his sword lying on the ground, right where it had landed after Caradoc had disarmed him. Gorion picked it up suspiciously, running his thumb along the blade, smelling it, and touching the tip of his tongue to his thumb, quickly spitting onto the floor.

"Caradoc…" Gorion began, cautiously.

"Yes Father?"

"Were you struck at all?"

"By his foot, yes. By his sword, no, we were going to first blood and I won…why do you ask?"

"Did Malori get struck at all?" Gorion asked, trying to keep the panic out of his voice for the sake of the little girl.

Caradoc looked at Malori. "Are you ok munchkin? Did you get cut?"

Malori shook her head.

"No, she says she wasn't. Why?"

Gorion let out a sigh of relief. "Is this Dwayne's sword?" he asked, holding up the sword he had been inspecting.

"Yes. He said it was only fair that he should be able to use his own as I am very familiar with all of the weapons here and I agreed. Just a friendly fight between old friends, why would it matter if he used his own sword?"

Gorion shook his head and called Malori over to him, checking the little one over to be sure she didn't have so much as a graze from the sword.

"I'm not huwt at all, Dad! Cawy pwotected me!" she said cheerfully, completely ignorant as to what the commotion was about. Gorion ruffled her hair and hugged her,

"You are a brave little girl, sweetie."

"No, I'se just pwotected Cawy, but Cawy said he didn't need pwotecting, dat dey was just playing! But it didn't seem like dey was playing!"

Gorion smiled and took a small pouch from his pocket.

"Here kiddo, for being so brave, you get these." He said, putting the sack into her pudgy little hands. "Go ahead, open it!" he said with a smile.

"Wow! Candied cloudbewwies! Thank you Daddy!" she said excitedly at receiving her favorite treat.

"You're welcome. Now, go over there and have them while I talk with Cary, ok?"

"Ok! I'se going to save some fow Imoen too!" she said as she went over to a corner to look over and enjoy her treat.

"What's wrong Dad?" Caradoc asked concernedly.

"Caradoc, you owe that little girl your _life._" Gorion whispered harshly.

Caradoc laughed, "Please Dad, we were just playing like the old days. He would have beaten me, I'll admit that and my pride would have been hurt and I'd probably think I was going to die of shame, but Dad, really, you're blowing this _way _out of proportion."

"Damn it Caradoc!" Gorion hissed, grabbing the young man by his shirt, "I have no idea what you were thinking, but Dwayne wasn't playing around, he was meaning to kill you!"

"That's ridiculous Dad!"

"Caradoc, this sword is _poisoned!_"

"What?"

"Yes Caradoc, poisoned. It's coated with the venom of the Olive sea snake; its venom is several times more lethal than any snakes to be found on land. Caradoc, if you had lost, if this even so much as drew blood, the venom would have traveled into your blood and your heart would have stopped. More than likely you would have been dead in minutes, if indeed it took _that_ long."

Caradoc was in utter shock. "And if Malori…" finally beginning to grasp the reality of the situation, looking over at the little child across the room, who was completely oblivious to the grave danger she had been in.

Gorion nodded gravely, glad that Caradoc finally understood the gravity of the situation.

"The venom would have overwhelmed her. She probably would have succumbed in seconds, probably before you even fully realized what had happened- Caradoc, where are you going?" Gorion asked turning in the direction Caradoc was heading.

Caradoc turned towards him, carefully, yet forcefully snatching the sword from the older man's grasp, his eyes blazing with anger. Not saying a word he quickly walked away, smashing the poisoned sword against the wall, neatly snapping it in half, before walking out, the pommel end of the sword still tight in his grasp.

"Hull!" Caradoc yelled out to the young guard that was walking by. "Have you seen Dwayne anywhere?"

"Yes my lord, he headed in that direction." He said, pointing in the direction of the gate.

"Damn it! Sound the alarm! He is _not_ to be allowed to pass the gates, have I made myself clear?"

"Yes, sir, right away sir." And he bolted off as Caradoc took off towards the gate.

Within mere minutes, Caradoc stood before the massive gate, greatly relieved to see that the Gatewarden had gotten the word and had managed to close it. He then heard a voice and turned in its direction surprised by the almost eerie calmness of it. Dwayne who had been bound and was now being dragged along by the guards was speaking with them.

"Come now good men, I assure you, there must be some mistake. I am a friend of Lord Caradoc's; I don't see why this is at all necessary. Ah, there he is over there," Dwayne said, catching sight of Caradoc, "See, there he is right over there. He'll straighten all of this out, there's probably some misunderstanding of some sort, that is all. Old friend, would you care to help me out of this predicament?" Dwayne asked him as though he were completely innocent of any transgression, as though he hadn't just attempted to kill him.

Caradoc merely stood there staring for a brief instant, feeling as though he had just stepped into some demented dream. Reminding himself of all that had transpired, he angrily said,

"Hull, bring him to the dungeons. I will be there shortly."

Hull nodded and dragged Dwayne away. Caradoc stared murderously at Dwayne as he looked back at him, calling out,

"Come on now Cary, what's gotten into you? Help a man out, will ya?"

At that, Caradoc turned away, searching his mind for what in the name of the gods had happened in the last half an hour, trying to compose himself, but failing miserably, confusion and curiosity being shoved to the back of his mind by utter and complete rage. Finally giving up on guarding his emotions, he walked quickly towards the dungeons.

The guards dragged Dwayne into the dungeon where they then secured his hands by tying them on the back of a thick log which they draped across his shoulders.

Dwayne glanced up when he noticed that Caradoc had entered through the thick oak door, slamming it shut with a resounding bang. He stormed into the room coming to a stop a few feet away from the bound Dwayne. Dwayne smirked,

"Hello Cary. Fancy meeting you here." He said.

Caradoc clenched his fists tightly at his sides, managing to ground out through gritted teeth, "Leave us." The guards bowed slightly before they left the dungeon leaving Caradoc and Dwayne alone.

Dwayne looked at Caradoc expectantly, a slight smirk on his face.

"Why?" Caradoc hissed.

Dwayne cocked his head to one side and raised his eyebrow in feigned confusion.

"Whatever do you mean?"

He had had enough. Caradoc closed the distance between himself and Dwayne and drove his fist into Dwayne's exposed side with all of his strength. Dwayne gasped with pain.

"Now," Caradoc said. "I'm going to ask you again. Why?"

Dwayne just smiled. This was just too much fun to end now.

"Now Cary, it would be no fun at all if I just told you now would it? Clearly you just aren't smart enough to-"

He was cut off as Caradoc punched him again, this time in the jaw, forcing his head to snap sharply to the side.

"I'm going to ask you one last time Dwayne. Why?" Caradoc said coldly.

Dwayne merely turned and wiped the blood from his lips on the shoulder of his shirt before returning his attention to Caradoc.

"Why don't you go and figure it out, Cary?" he said with a taunting smile, his teeth red with blood.

Caradoc's eyes narrowed before he turned and grabbed a dagger and marched back over to Dwayne. He grabbed the back of Dwayne's shirt and tore it, leaving his back exposed. He lightly traced the dagger blade over Dwayne's bare flesh, being careful not to break the skin…yet.

"Would you like to try again?" Caradoc asked, menacingly.

"What was the question again? I seem to have forgotten." Dwayne said mockingly.

"Damn it Dwayne! Why did you try to kill Malori and myself?" Caradoc yelled.

"Please, that little runt. Cary, you would have ended up thanking me-" his words getting cut off again as Caradoc dug the dagger into his back and dragged it down harshly and yanking it up, forming the shape of a large check mark that began halfway down the left side of Dwayne's back and ending by his right shoulder blade. Dwayne gritted his teeth to remain silent.

"You still won't tell me?" Caradoc asked, coming around to face Dwayne again.

"I was telling you! That girl, she is a spawn of the hells I tell you!"

"Wrong answer!" Caradoc growled, slamming his fist squarely into Dwayne's stomach. Dwayne doubled over his shoulders rising up and down, though Caradoc couldn't see his face. Caradoc grabbed Dwayne by the hair, dragging him upright, greatly disturbed to see that he was laughing. He then dragged him across the room to a corner that held a bucket filled with water. Caradoc forced him to his knees and shoved his head into the water, his hand tightly gripping the back of his neck to ensure that that Dwayne didn't resurface. After about a minute and a half, he pulled Dwayne's head out of the water,

"Are you ready to talk now?"

Dwayne responded by spitting a jet of water into Caradoc's face and smirked.

"Is that seriously the best you can do?" Dwayne taunted.

Caradoc threw Dwayne harshly across the room before he went and grabbed a small brown bag. He then walked over to Dwayne who was lying face down on the floor, unable to rise under his own power due to the restraints upon his shoulders. He then opened the bag and poured its contents, salt, straight onto Dwayne's open wound. Once the bag was empty, he harshly rubbed the salt deep down into every inch of Dwayne's injured back.

Dwayne screamed loud enough that he was sure that the whole of Candlekeep had heard him.

Caradoc dragged Dwayne back up so that he was standing. "Ready to talk now?"

Dwayne just looked at him.

"Damn it Dwayne! I trusted you! I want some fucking answers! By the gods Dwayne, I don't want to have to kill you!"

Dwayne smiled. "No? Too much of a coward, I see. Come now, you have the sword with you, do you not?"

Caradoc unlatched the broken sword from its place hanging by his side. With one swift movement, he had it lying across Dwayne's throat, pressing it just hard enough that Dwayne's skin was turning white where it met the blade, but not hard enough to break the skin.

"Answer me! Why did you try to kill Malori and myself? And consider your answer carefully, lest my hand slip-"

"-And you never receive the answers you so desperately want." Dwayne warned.

He looked in Caradoc's eyes and saw that he was weighing the two results. Trying to decide what he wanted more; answers or Dwayne's death.

"Come now, Paladin, be a murderer. Go ahead and kill a defenseless man." Dwayne taunted. He could see Caradoc's grip tighten on the pommel of the sword, then grinned at seeing it slacken, his arm falling to his side. Frustrated, Caradoc turned away from Dwayne, pacing, facing the floor, his hands on his head, cursing under his breath, when he heard a loud thud behind him. He turned quickly around and saw that the wooden beam that had been tied to Dwayne was lying discarded on the ground and, sitting nonchalantly in a chair nearby was Dwayne, leaning back against the wall, arms folded across his chest, smirking at him, amused by Caradoc's shocked look.

Caradoc drew his sword that he had had in a scabbard at his side.

"What's going on? What is the meaning of this?" Caradoc demanded.

"You wanted answers? Very well. You are an enigma Caradoc, you really are, and I have paid a price for that, something that infuriates me to no end. With you dead, I would have hurt someone who has wronged me. Unfortunately, I have failed in that, yet the message has been sent all the same. I _could _have killed you and that will have to suffice for now." Besides, he thought to himself, he'd like to drag this whole thing out a bit longer, he could easily end it now, but he figured he would get some amusement out of the situation first. "I will have you know that it had nothing to do with you; your death would have just been a means to an end. And as for that girl, Cary, let me warn you, she has dark essence within her, I can sense it. I have put on this charade to see how far you would go, how far I can cause you to fall. Yet, it is nothing like what _she_ will do. She will be the force behind your fall Caradoc. And when you fall, you will fall _hard_."

Caradoc put his hand lightly on the side of his forehead, eyes closed and shaking his head in shock.

"Wait, what?"

But when he opened his eyes, the chair in which Dwayne had been sitting a mere second ago was empty and Caradoc was alone in the dark, dank dungeon.

A/N: Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it! Please review, but as always, please no flames! This will probably be my last chapter for a while as college work is catching up with me. But I'm hoping to have more up by Christmas time at the latest! Thank you again for reading


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